Letters from the Falling Sky
by scorpiaux
Summary: “Katara felt helpless. Aang didn’t know he had a daughter.” Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. MultiChaptered, Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.
1. Katara

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary: "**Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note**: This will be **multi-chaptered.** Written in third person from the view of virtually every character, starting out with the most important.

_Just as a side note:_ For those of you who read the OneShot "Composition" that I wrote last month, this is a bit based off of that. Exciting, isn't it?

I rated this as Mature because there may be mentions of gore, death, sex, blood, violence—things of that nature. Just as a warning, you know, in later chapters. If I decide against adding that, then I'll just change the rating.

The first is Katara because—yes, although Aang is technically more important—she's my favorite, and really the type of girl I see sitting down to write a letter. Plus she kind of needs to go first because of the whole family situation/ordeal.

_The letters will interconnect._ So, while it's okay if you read your favorite character, submit a review, add it to your favorites, alert to see if any more chapters will be written on said character, and then just stop, it's recommended that, to get the whole idea of the story, you read them all.

Happy Reading!

-scorpiored112

* * *

.1.

She was not a girl of habit, let alone of happiness.

And this moment of death—the death of her grandmother, her only living female relative besides her daughter—settled upon her like a swarm of hail and stones. Katara sat in the dark igloo dimly, on the low mattress that had belonged to her grandmother before she had been buried earlier that evening.

Outside, she could still see the bonfire. She could hear the weeping. And yet she had been the only one in the tribe who hadn't wept. She hadn't cried at all.

She had placed four year old Kya Lynn to sleep, her bastard daughter from the monk she thought she loved long ago. She had walked about the igloo countless times, talked to tribal friends, talked to Pakku. Walked around more and more. But she hadn't cried.

Mostly, she felt she couldn't. And though being in Gran Gran's room alone helped her think more about the situation, about the overcoming ordeal, it wasn't helping her face the guilt. Her death had been the healer's fault. All her fault.

_It still smells like her in here,_ she thought, trying to scatter her thoughts. She felt herself frown deeply. An aroma of weathered perfume and flavored tobacco filled Katara's lungs with every breath she took. She inhaled, trying to take it all in before it faded forever, before it was carried over the sea, before it was gone.

Especially in the last few weeks of her life, Gran Gran had begun to smell more and more like sweat and worry and old people. She had been a picture of health before Katara showed up nearly five years ago, alone and pregnant and afraid, without a bison, without Aang, without her brother. Her grandchild's worries and depression had been spread on to her.

Katara had finally came back to the South Pole because, like it or not, it was the only place she had any family left. And now—though Pakku was sill alive—she felt as though she had no one but the innocent little girl who was still asking where her Great Gran Gran was.

It was becoming more and more obvious—Katara felt responsible for her grandmother's death, and the feeling wasn't releasing itself in tears the way it was supposed to.

She stood up, sickened by her thoughts, and walked slowly to the next room. She placed a hand to her forehead and sat on her desk. Papers were everywhere, covered in words—in drawings—in prayers. She picked up a page where Gran Gran had drawn her a little heart with the characters for "Katara" and the characters for "Kya" inside. Gran Gran never called her Kya Lynn like Pakku did. She never called her Lynnie like Katara did. She called her Kya, like her first daughter.

Katara picked up a letter sent by Sokka to Gran Gran—_only_ Gran Gran—about the preparations for his wedding. In the letter he had not mentioned Katara. He had not asked about his niece's health—how could he when he didn't know about her? He had not mentioned Aang. Even Toph's name wasn't printed there, in Sokka's fat, stupid, messy handwriting.

Katara picked up a blank scroll and stared at it, turning it in her hands. If she was a normal girl, she knew she would be crying. But instead she just felt furious—angry—afraid. She opened up the scroll crossed her arms.

"What the hell am I supposed to write?" she asked out loud to herself, suddenly angered by her brother's cold shoulder, even if it had been going on for a good sum of years. She picked up a brush and flattened out the parchment.

She grimaced into the paper.

She was the only one who could tell Sokka of Gran Gran's death.

Even if she had let Pakku write it, it wouldn't be the same. Gran Gran wasn't for him. She was their grandmother before she had become his wife. She was her mother's mother. Sokka needed to know, and Pakku wasn't the one to tell him.

_Maybe this will finally end the stupid grudge between us,_ Katara thought bitterly, readying her brush.

Her hands were shaking. She didn't know why, but it frightened her, because she honestly couldn't control them. She held on to the brush with her right hand and held on to her right hand with her left. She started writing.

_Sokka. Dear Sokka. Dearest Sokka. Sokka, the idiot—To my brother, Sokka—_

Katara decided faintly that this would be the rough draft. She heard her daughter in the next chamber coughing in her sleep.

_To the brother who hates me, Sokka. No. Just, Sokka:_

_This is going to come as a surprise because I really didn't want to talk to you ever again but I guess I have to under the circumstances._

_I mean I honestly still can't stand you and I probably will never stand you again but do I have a choice, no I guess I don't? You still hate me, Sokka._

_I probably don't—run on sentence—run on—run away. Guess what, Sokka. Ready for the news here it is whether you're ready or not because here it is: I killed Gran Gran, you idiot. I killed her. Thanks to all the stress and shit you gave me. The shit Aang and Toph gave me. I came down here and ruined her life with my problems. _

_She kept thinking of ways to make me happier until she died. She kept telling me to send you a letter or tell you to come down or make peace. She kept telling me to get engaged and get married—yes, a man will solve all your problems—look at this suitor he is so pleasant—your daughter needs a father figure, because did I tell you, Sokka, that I have a daughter now?—you're young and you need someone to share your life with and if you don't talk to Sokka at least get married, you crazy girl. Sokka you're a stupid bastard. I killed Gran Gran—she's gone forever. You stupid bastard. Come back home so I can tell you to your face. So you can see your own bastard niece. She's the only thing I have left. I miss you and I just ruined a perfectly good scroll. Gran Gran is dead. My daughter's name is Kya Lynn and I can't call her Kya because then I see Mom's face and it scares me._

The characters were everywhere. Katara was usually rather neat, and when it came to writing, very professional. Generally she never wrote a rough draft for anything. But she couldn't control herself. She didn't care. Her hands were shaking so badly that the words were blurry and dancing and run-on.

"This isn't the right time," she said to herself. "I can barely write. He won't be able to read it even if I send it. He probably won't even open it. And I can't send him this." A sigh voiced itself from behind her throat. She dropped the brush and reached for another paper.

She told herself, because she had found peace in self-conversation, "This one is for Aang. Aang will open a letter from me. He has to."

"Mama?"

Katara froze and turned around in her chair. Kya Lynn, hair messy and cheeks flushed, stood in the doorway, holding her prized stuffed air bison doll. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and looked at her mother.

"Are you writing a letter to Baba?"

"I thought you were asleep, Lynnie," Katara stated truthfully, also rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "I'm sorry for waking you, dear. I'll think things to myself next time instead of saying them out loud like that."

"What are you going to tell Baba about?" the girl asked as Katara swooped her up into her arms.

"Nothing, dear. I'm not going to write anything to him."

The waterbender placed her daughter on the tiny mattress in the room they both shared. She pulled the animal furs to Kya's chin. As always, she began staring into the girl's eyes—deep gray, like her father's. The only thing she had taken from Katara was her thick, wavy brown hair and her undeniable spunk. Katara only hoped her pale daughter would prove herself as a waterbender when the time came, but there was always a flicker of doubt. She might sneeze and shoot thirty feet into the air, and then Aang would have stolen that aspect too.

For the tenth time that day, Kya Lynn asked, "Where's Gran Gran?"

Her mother pushed the mattress a little closer to the wall. She had grown used to lying. "I told you, darling," she sighed tediously, "Gran Gran is taking a long nap."

"When will she be back?"

"Very soon, Lynnie. Very soon."

The girl paused, contemplating this. She looked into her mother's eyes. "Is Baba coming now that Gran Gran is dead?"

And suddenly Katara's hands stopped fixing the blankets. She sat there, captivated and horrified by her daughter's wit. She couldn't think quickly enough. Too many things were happening at once. In this small instance, her daughter had grown up.

"Who told you that?" she asked crossly, folding her arms.

"Gran Gran did," Kya answered casually, playing with her stuffed doll. "She just came in my dream a second ago and told me. And she said I should comb my hair out more now that she can't do it herself, and because _you_ never do it, Mama."

A lump rose in Katara's throat. She continued staring into Kya's great, gray orbs. Small pricks of discomfort stung her own eyes, but she didn't care. She didn't blink. She felt the world was spinning too fast.

"What else did you dream about?" she asked lamely, in order to further grasp this.

"Gran Gran said I should take care of you."

"Will you do it?" her mother asked with a bitter laugh.

"I don't think I need to," Kya Lynn admitted innocently, avoiding Katara's cynical pitch. Usually, although her mother was rather tender and caring towards her, Kya could tell when Katara was bothered. She continued, "I think now that Gran Gran is gone, you'll start taking better care of yourself—all by yourself."

In the silence that consumed them, Katara saw her daughter get out of the furry blankets she had spent so much time worrying about and put her bison down. She swung her arms around Katara's shoulders and didn't let go.

But it wasn't fair. Katara loved her daughter to unknowable extents, and yet she felt nothing. She sat on her knees with a four year old child embracing her, sobbing softly into the flex of her neck, calling her Mama.

"It'll be okay, Lynnie," Katara started awkwardly, wondering what was wrong with her senses. Everything seemed fogged. She lifted her hands and pulled the girl closer. "Don't cry any more, Lynnie darling. It'll be alright."

Kya Lynn whispered hoarsely, "You never call me Kya."

"I know I don't, dearest. That was my mother's name."

"Call me Kya like Gran Gran used to," the child ordered, not leaving her spot. "And you have to comb my hair, Mama. And tell me stories."

"Of course. Calm down, now, darling. Please don't cry anymore."

"Is Baba going to die too?" the girl asked suddenly, choking back a sob. "Or is he already? How come I never see him? I miss Gran Gran, Mama. I miss her. She loved me! She used to brush my hair."

Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter. He didn't know that, all that while five years ago, little Kya Lynn was conceived without a promise of marriage, or an engagement. How could she explain the concept of a bastard child to her daughter? A girl pushing five years with the burden of worrying about her unstable mother. A girl who had just lose the only person she truly loved. Kya was reliving what Katara had experienced when the first Kya died. Rejection. The world slamming its doors just when she thought everything was perfect.

She rocked her daughter back and forth. She couldn't cry so she hummed, but her voice sounded awkward so then she fell silent. Nothing was right about this day. Nothing at all.

After Kya had cried herself to sleep, Katara made her way back to the study and sat down. She made sure she didn't speak to herself this time.

_This is pathetic, _she thought.

Just because Aang would open the letter didn't mean that he loved her. It didn't mean that he was ready to forgive and start over—and even if he was ready, she wasn't ready. Not ready to tell him he had a daughter that she kept from him for four years. As much as she had fantasized reuniting their old makeshift family, she knew it wouldn't happen now. And even if he knew she needed him, it's not like he would come running to her rescue.

But then there was the doubt again—the shallow regret. Maybe he would come back.

Katara printed, in fine, shaky black strokes: _I have become a terrible, lonely, disgusted person. I see the world through a thick dark film. My Gran Gran is gone forever, my daughter is falling apart, and it's all my fault. _

She blew on the scroll so that it would dry and rolled it up and took it with her to her grandmother's room. She placed it under the pillow and sat on the edge of the mattress.

The world was spinning. She couldn't handle this. She needed release—she needed to cry.

She needed to tell someone how much guilt was swelling into her chest. She needed a hand on her shoulder, fingers intertwined with hers, a soft whisper, a dying breath—just someone to tell her it was okay that her life was spiraling into a fiery gyre. It was okay that she felt it was all her fault. It was okay if all of her old friends left her and that she refused to make new ones. It was okay that she wasn't married or engaged or seeing anyone.

Just someone to tell her it was okay to become a terrible, lonely, disgusted person, and that the world was thick and black with or without the film, and that Gran Gran could some how come back, and that Kya was a strong girl—strong as her mother once had been.

Katara was biting her lip as this realization dawned upon her. She didn't take the chance. She got up suddenly and ran to the study and sat down.

The new version of the letter began, _To the Avatar—to Aang._

Sokka would have to wait. This letter was first. She wrote without hesitation, without restriction, without rough drafts. Maybe he would come back. Maybe he would feel for her. The letters came out furiously, neatly. Her hands were shaking and she was getting little splatters of ink every time she dipped her brush but she didn't care. She needed to take the first step—no apologies, no tearful confessions. But a letter.

And she wrote, mostly, in a direct manner. She didn't say sorry for things that happened, and mostly she avoided them. Their past was their past, she wrote. And now she was looking for a future. And so she wrote also about her greatest secret from him. She wrote about Kya Lynn.

_…She calls you Baba, you know. Gran Gran told her to call you that, before she died. I wanted to tell you earlier but I couldn't. And now I feel I have to. She has your eyes and your face and your grin. Aang, she's a beautiful little girl. She might be an airbender. Pakku said it's too early to tell. _

_She wants you to come here. I don't know where she got the idea. You probably think I'm lying—you probably think I miss you. But I'm telling you the truth this time…_

It was signed: _With all the love I am capable of giving. Katara, and your daughter, Kya Lynn._

She sat down and wrote the next one to her brother.

Maybe, if Aang decided to come back—and maybe, if he just happened to bring Sokka and Toph—she would be able to cry again. To feel again.


	2. Aang

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary: "**Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note**: I promise all of you that the story will unfold with time. This is the answer to "What happened in their past? What did they fight about? Where is Aang? Why are they mad at each other?"

You're going to find out. I promise!

While the first few chapters will be a bit depressing, I'm hoping the tone will pick up a little bit later on.

I'm pretty sure Sokka will be next but I've also thought about Toph. There's a little surprise in the next chapter about the two of them, actually. Ah! The suspense!

Many thanks to those of you who submitted constructive reviews. Your comments are always, _always_ appreciated, and truly _do_ inspire me to update faster. Keep this in mind when you finish reading, you little scallywags!

-scorpiored112

* * *

.2.

He walked into a stony alley with his eyes downcast. It must have been the middle of the night, he thought. But he no longer kept track of time nor of dates. He merely knew it was dark outside. He was wondering around alone, turning things over in his mind.

Aang had received her scroll about three days ago. It had been sent by messenger hawk and had gotten to him pretty quickly. Mostly he spent his days in the Earth Kingdom now. Which, despite the ocean, actually wasn't that far away from the South Pole. He was currently residing with a mayor and his family to find better ways to govern their city, overrun with crime and prostitution.

Even if he was the Avatar, he didn't have the answers to everything. He was still only twenty-two years old and struggling with a few wars of his own. And just because unlimited wisdom was available to him didn't mean that he would fancy to use it. It was much like having a closet. If you didn't need it, or didn't fill it, it just sort of sat there.

He had read the letter exactly nineteen times through.

_Aang, she's a beautiful little girl. _

_She calls you Baba, you know. _

_She might be an airbender._

_With all the love I am capable of giving. Katara, and your daughter, Kya Lynn._

_Your daughter, Kya Lynn._

_YOUR DAUGHTER, KYA LYNN._

_Your daughter. Katara, and your daughter, Kya Lynn._

There were no words that could properly capture his facial expression when he had opened the scroll and read it. Aang couldn't fathom what was happening. He had always known that Katara was keeping something from him—it started the day after she left—but he hadn't known the gravity of the secret. There was a little girl in the Southern Water Tribe calling him Baba. And Katara had kept him from that for what he guessed were a good four years.

How had she found him? How had she known he was here? He tried his best to push the thoughts around—to find an answer to something unanswerable, to wonder around aimlessly until the proper answers finally came to him.

Yet as he turned the corner to another narrow alley, he caught site of one of the mayor's older daughters gently closing the door of her room behind her. It was obvious that she was sneaking out of the house. And she made it even more obvious by screaming out slightly when he touched her shoulder and asked her where she was going so late into the night.

"Avatar Aang!" she breathed, placing a paled hand over her heart. "Goodness—you frightened me."

"Does your father know you are out this late?" He couldn't remember her name—the mayor had too many daughters to keep track of. She wasn't too much younger than he was—probably eighteen or something along that. Somewhat an adult, somewhat still a child. She was pretty, too, he thought, in her skinny little green dress and her flushed, excited face.

She didn't answer.

"Does your father know you are out this late?" he asked again, a little louder.

The nameless girl looked at him. He noticed dimly that her eyes were a sparkling hazel color. "Without any disrespect, Avatar Aang," she started, "but I don't need his permission. I appreciate your concern, but I think I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."

"Don't give me that," he stated awkwardly. "If you had any respect for me or your father, you wouldn't be wondering around in the middle of the night in this gang ridden city. You know as well as I do what kind of condition this dump is in."

She glared at him again; her face wrinkled. She furrowed her brows and crossed her arms and spat furiously, "You're not my father." And then she hissed, in a much lower tone, "What can a bachelor possibly know about parenting?" And then he knew that the respectful dialogue was simply a learned act.

He didn't know how to respond to this, but yet the news of Kya Lynn seemed to bubble to the surface anyway. Aang shook his head. "I happen to have a daughter." She looked up at him. Aang seemed to be talking more to himself. "Her name is Kya Lynn. She's a very pretty girl and I'm taking good care of her. I don't let her wonder around the streets alone." He saw her raise an eyebrow. "I visit her all the time and I tell her bedtime stories. I'm a good father. Your dad is a good father too."

The girl made a desperate expression and dropped her arms. He wondered if she knew he was lying.

"He called me here to fix the city so you'd be protected, and you are disgracing him by doing this. What was your name again?"

"Fa Ling," she responded in a whisper. Embarrassment dripped noticeably from her face. The night was over before it had even started.

She pulled her little green bag closer and turned back to the door. But she stopped suddenly and spun her head to him. "Please don't tell Baba," she begged. "You're right. But please don't tell him. Baba can't know."

She didn't know what she had said that made him divert his gaze to the floor. Aang winced visibly at the word 'Baba' and bit his lower lip to prevent it from wavering. "I won't," he answered. "I won't tell your Baba. Go inside now, Fa Ling."

_She calls you Baba, you know. Gran Gran told her to call you that._

"Are you okay?" she asked uneasily. "Avatar Aang, is there something I can do to—"

"Go inside now, Fa Ling. I won't tell your father."

All dressed up with no place to go, she slipped into the doorway without another word. Aang stood there and felt his gut doing flips beneath his skin.

"Why wouldn't she tell me?" he asked in reference to Katara, turning away from the house into another street. Although he wasn't ready to go back to his temporary lodgings just yet, he knew he had to. The scroll was there, and going back would mean reading it again. Reading her name again.

_With all the love I am capable of giving. Katara, and your daughter, Kya Lynn._

"Why wouldn't she tell me?" he asked again while passing a brick wall. He fumbled with his keys for a moment before turning the lock and going inside. Darkness enveloped him as he lazily lit the lamp with a string of firebending. He picked up the scroll and held it to his nose.

It smelled like smoke and perfume. It smelled like Katara.

Immediately after their argument, he had tried desperately to fix things between them. But he was still a little confused—a little embarrassed, and though he had written her about thirty scrolls with the admittance that it was his fault for rushing them—that it was his fault that Suki and Hakoda had been killed—his fault Sokka had blamed her—that it was his fault the resistance had been stalking them…he hadn't actually _sent_ a single one.

Thirty perfect scrolls lay in a bag he carried with him everywhere. He had confessed everything to her in those letters: everything was his fault. Everything. And he loved her, and didn't she know that? And what about all the years they had spent together—did they mean nothing? When he missed her, which happened often, he would take them out and read them.

He had written, those thirty times, among everything else, with tears stinging his eyes,_ I love you, Katara. I'm sorry. There's nothing left to say. Can't we put this behind us?_

He had written them and kept them for fear of rejection—or worse, complete ignorance. He was afraid that if he did send them, she would send nothing back. And yet she had sent him this without any initiation.

_She calls you Baba, you know. Gran Gran told her to call you that…you probably think I miss you. But I'm telling the truth this time. _

Remembering his letters made him feel like a complete idiot. She hadn't said much of anything else—nothing about her brother, nor of Toph, nor much about Kya Lynn, for that matter. She told him her grandmother had passed away. She taught waterbending sometimes to little kids their daughter's age. She told him she was constantly tired and lethargic and had tried in the past to contact him but didn't really know how to go about it. She said she wanted a fresh start; but she hadn't apologized.

Things were complex now, and though Aang knew this, he felt there was only one simple answer: he had to go down there himself.

He had to face Katara. He had to see his daughter who, somehow, looked exactly like him.

There was an evil doubt inside that asked Aang if this was the truth. _Do you really think,_ it scolded him, _that it's _your_ child? Katara's young. She's pretty. Honestly. Do you honestly think it's yours?_

But something else told him she was. And the fact that she—apparently—had his eyes and face and grin made this all too clear for him. Most Water Tribe men were dark, and he knew Katara wasn't the type to sleep around. It was his fault they had slept together in the first place, as initiation for their later arguments—a chain that had ruined the friendship of four close friends.

Aang fell into the rumpled sheets of his bed and looked at the ceiling of his room. He knew he shouldn't have lied to the mayor's daughter, but suddenly he didn't care. If Katara hadn't lied and kept her pregnancy a secret, he would have proved to be a good father after all. And he was prepared to go there now and be a model figure anyway.

Although he knew he felt sad, he also felt furious. Katara didn't have to right to keep him from Kya Lynn all this time. But then he also felt angry at himself, and a little angry at their daughter for being born so quickly, after only one try. When the anger settled—as it settled in cycles—he felt nothing but a looming vacancy. He felt empty.

Mostly, he felt ashamed.

"I'm a good father," he said into the darkness, detesting the sound of his voice. "I am a good father. She calls me Baba."

From the nightstand next to his bed he took out a torn sheet of paper and picked up a pencil.

_I regret this late notice, Mayor Chang,_ he began quickly. _But I have news that there is an extreme need for my help in the South Pole. Although I know your city is…_

He stopped writing. He looked down at the scrap of paper and made a face.

"I can't just leave," Aang stated dumbly, balling the paper in his fist and throwing it against the wall. "I should write _her_ a letter instead. I'll tell her I'll come as soon as I can. I'll tell her I forgive her and that I'm sorry."

A soft knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked out the window to confirm the time. "Who is it?" Aang asked loudly.

There was a slight hesitation. "It's me," the feminine voice explained. "It's Fa Ling."

Aang didn't answer. He lazily tried to fix the sheets over his bed and prayed that this wouldn't take too long.

"Can I come in?"

The door creaked open regardless. She stood there in the fancy kimono she had worn earlier that day. He wondered briefly where the tight green dress had gone.

"Can I help you with anything?" he asked, running a hand over his shaved head. "It's late. You should be asleep."

"I know," she admitted bleakly. "Forgive me, Avatar. It's awfully rude to clunk in unannounced, but…"

"But what? I've already told you," he repeated, "I'm not going to tell your father about—"

"Oh, no. No—goodness, it's not that. It's not about my father at all." She seemed distracted. Her gaze wondered around the guest room as if she had seen it for the first time. Aang thought she must like him, in a schoolgirl-crush sort of way, as he often thought when he met young women around his age that refused to leave him alone.

"I'd like to get some sleep," he said bluntly. "I think you could use some too."

"It's about your daughter," she blurted after some difficulty, pulling at her kimono. "I just wanted to ask you…I mean, it's kind of silly, really—don't think me nosey, Avatar. But…I'm just curious. I didn't know you had a daughter. No one did."

Aang grunted in discomfort, still sitting on the edge of his bed. He admitted silently to himself that Fa Ling was cute. She had shiny, long black hair that she wore down, over her shoulders. It looked a lot like Toph' hair, he thought suddenly. When she spoke her lips made quick, awkward movements. He didn't want to talk about his daughter now, but he knew she probably wouldn't leave easily if he refused.

"Well," he answered flatly, in an attempt to close the conversation, "it just so happens that I do. And for the record, please don't go blabbing it to everyone you see. I'd like to keep her protected, if you don't mind."

"Right—of course. From the resistance."

"Yes," he answered. "Yes. From the resistance."

"How old is she?

"Four years old," he mumbled plainly. "Good night, Fa Ling."

She reached for the back of her neck. It was too dark to see if she was blushing, but he could safely guess that she was. "Can I ask one more thing?"

Thoroughly bothered, he nodded out of politeness.

"Who is her mother? Who is your wife?"

She saw his back stiffen in the slight light that came in from the hallway and the lamp. "What is it to you?" he murmured directly. "I think you know too much already. Please go to sleep. It's late." Again the politeness prevented him from saying what he truly felt. He wanted to slap her face and tell her that it was none of her business that he and Katara weren't married, and that they would have been, if it wasn't for him.

"It isn't that one waterbender, is it?" she asked quickly, playing anxiously with her hair. "Kya is a Water Tribe name."

"Go to sleep," he ordered, meeting her gaze. "If you don't leave, I'm going to tell your father."

"Of course," she replied quietly. "I'm sorry, Avatar."

"Please go to sleep."

She rubbed her arm and bowed. "Of course. I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—"

"Fa Ling," Aang breathed, "I forgive you. Now _please_ go to bed."

She made a face and dropped her head. He saw her disappear into the hallway without closing the door. He couldn't help but feel she was a ridiculous girl, and he hoped that his own daughter wouldn't grow into some one as blunt or as rude as Fa Ling.

Aang had become a cynical sort of person over the course of four years. He was sick of this polluted city as well as the mayor's overbearing daughters. Even if he had already been here for two weeks, he was starting to feel a little unwelcome.

He grabbed another sheet of paper—this one had a tea stain on it—and sharpened the pencil.

_Write Katara a letter. Leave Mayor Chang's city ASAP. Dream about meeting Kya Lynn._

Seeing his hand write her name gave him goose bumps.

"Why didn't she tell me?" he asked aloud for this third time that night, burying his face in his hands. She called him Baba. She was in the South Pole waiting for him. He and Katara had created a little girl who Katara had named Kya Lynn.

And the weight of the world fell onto Aang's shoulders like a series of rocks and stones. He didn't know that, many miles away, a young Water Tribe woman he loved was also having trouble crying. He didn't know that her brother was suffering another tragedy of his own in a foreign country. Although he knew that they needed each other, he didn't know what he was prepared to do about it.

All he knew, at this hour in the middle of the night, was that he could not write to Katara first. Instead he wrote a letter to Sokka on a good, clean sheet of paper with one of Mayor Chang's fancy fountain pens.

He wrote, unlike Katara, slowly, and with much thought. The Avatar was a stranger to impulse.

_…I don't know what to do. I was so confused about how to contact her. You know something crazy? I wrote her thirty letters, but didn't send a single one!_

_I know that I haven't written anything to you at all, Sokka, but you were mad at me the most out of the four of us. I remember you called me lots of things and attacked me with your club. I know you were angry about Suki and Hakoda. I'm sorry, Sokka. I'm sorry that the resistance was there. But you have to understand that it wasn't my fault…_

He wrote more and more. The paper was filled up halfway, but he kept going.

_...Katara needs us now more than ever. She needs me for Kya Lynn and she needs you for Gran Gran. I know you hate me. I know she still probably hates me too. But it's just an argument that got out of control. I know people died, Sokka. I'm not a complete fool, although you may still think I am. _

_I'm sorry I slept with Katara and I'm sorry the resistance was after us. I'm sorry for all the other things that got in the way. Maybe we can go back to the way things used to be. You and me and Katara and Toph. Remember? The fearsome foursome? _

After he finished, he rolled up the paper and tied a ribbon to it. He decided it would be best to send it first thing in the morning.

Aang slept a restless sleep. But when his eyes did close, and when his movements finally stopped, he dreamt about airbending with his daughter. He dreamt about holding Katara again.


	3. Sokka

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary: "**Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note**: I'm actually very fond of this chapter. It's not too depressing but it's not a happy sing-along either. It's like a contented balance of the two!

Bei Fong is Toph's last name and Gao Ling is the city where she was raised. I'm not completely positive on the spelling, but it seems pretty close.

Now I know that Tokka isn't exactly cannon, and sadly, I'm also very well aware of my lack of Tokka-writing skillz. I never like the way it sounds when I write it. But I can promise you that I did my best. It's approximately 11:54 p.m. right now and I've spent the last two hours writing and typing and making faces at the computer screen.

I continue to thank my loyal reviewers. You all honestly inspire me—I read your comments with a goofy smile pasted right under my nose!

-scorpiored112

* * *

.3.

The sound of his boots against cobblestone reminded him briefly of the groundwork on Kyoshi Island. But there were many things that reminded him of Kyoshi—many things that reminded him of Suki, for that matter—and they came up often enough for Sokka to learn to ignore them.

_Of all the places to think of Suki,_ he thought as he looked up to the Bei Fong estate. It was bigger and much fancier than he had remembered it. Why had he come here? Without notice, without a letter of warning, without anything? Something inside had merely told him that—out of the four of them—he needed to talk to Toph again.

But Sokka knew there was something else. A feeling that there was something wrong—out of place. It was too strong for him to ignore. Strong enough to take him all the way down from the North Pole to the center of the Earth Kingdom.

Sokka stopped walking. He was finally here.

The outer gate was crafted of dark, wrought iron, and had the design of Bei Fong flying boar on every available space. Sokka pulled at a coarse rope, signaling a heavy steel bell to ring. A servant appeared almost instantly and inspected him.

"Good afternoon," the warrior stated after a short pause, bowing. "I'm here to see Toph Bei Fong."

The servant, who Sokka guessed was a good fifty years old, began the tedious task of opening the front gates. "You wouldn't happen be the doctor, would you?" he asked with a hefty breath. The fence opened up and Sokka took a few steps in before the man stopped him with an open palm.

"Are you?" he asked again.

"No," Sokka admitted. "I'm not a doctor."

"I didn't think so," the elderly man muttered. "The Bei Fong's don't want any company. They are waiting for the arrival of a doctor from Ba Sing Sei. Now, if you don't mind—"

"Hey, hold on there!" Sokka exclaimed, pushing the man's hand away. "I may not be a doctor, but Toph knows who I am. I'm here to see her."

The man repeated stubbornly, "They don't want any company."

"I'm _not_ company," Sokka replied. "I have a good reason for being here. I could have lied and said I was a doctor, but I didn't. Now let me through."

A tense, anxious silence settled afterward. Sokka watched as the servant inspected him more closely. After a thorough investigation, he wrinkled his nose and shook his head in disbelief. He stated knowingly, "You're that Sokka boy."

"I'm not some boy," the warrior returned. "I'd appreciate a little respect from a servant." He pointed to the man's chest with two fingers and looked him in the eyes. "I'm going in, and I'll be sure to give Toph the message that you're just about as rude as you are old."

"Please," the man started, laughing. "I know what you've done to Lady Bei Fong. Everyone here knows."

Sokka's arm dropped.

"She's told us about your little argument. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't be acting so cocky. She's not going to be too pleased to see you." He saw Sokka's facial expression slump down, and then added, with a wicked smirk and a fake bow, "Go ahead in, master! The Bei Fong's are expecting you."

Sokka straightened himself, obviously shaken, and pushed past the man quickly. He was no longer an impulsive child with bad intentions. He knew now that servants were bitter, and liked to spread rumors and gossip around like old ladies. The man's response had only bothered him—but, in all honesty, had done little beyond that.

_Why would they need a doctor?_ he asked himself as he entered their walkway. He hoped it didn't have anything to do with Toph. But somehow, he could feel that it did. It was the same notion that had brought him down here in the first place.

Various younger servants were about the estate, chattering and moving and working. They eyed Sokka suspiciously and turned their faces and talked some more. A group of young maidservants finally said, loud enough so he could hear, "It's that one Sokka boy Lady Bei Fong was so fond of—he's come back!"

He turned to look at them. When they saw him approaching, the trio of maids blushed, settling down, and tried to look busy with their work.

"Excuse me, ladies," he started, using that old charm he had been gifted with since birth. "I couldn't help but notice that you seem to know who I am, and why I'm here."

They glanced uncomfortably at each other.

He grinned at them and winked. "Since you happen to know more about this little ordeal than I do…then, by any chance, do any of you know where my old friend Toph is, currently?"

The youngest one, a girl of about fifteen years, looked up at Sokka with admiring eyes and—captured by the wink he had shared with them earlier—blurted, before the others could stop her, "That room there, Mr. Sokka, sir—with the beige door—at the end of the hallway—knock twice!"

He nodded to the red-faced maid in appreciation and continued on his way. The three of them stared at his back, mouths open, eyes wide, with the most humorous look on their faces. Sokka seemed to have that power over young women, and though it pleased him, it also happened to come in handy every once in a while.

Finally out of earshot, he stood facing the beige door and took a deep breath. He lifted his fist and rapped his knuckles against the wood twice.

No response.

He knocked again, this time a little more urgently. But still, nothing came from the other side of the door.

Sokka was beginning to feel a swell of nervousness rise into his chest. But he couldn't run away now—coming this far meant going all the way. So he cleared his throat and knocked against the door six times and stated, "Toph? Toph, it's me. It's Sokka."

"I know who it is," a raspy voice answered.

Sokka jumped back. Whoever was behind the door certainly didn't sound like Toph. It sounded like some bothered child—a high, shrill, almost innocent tone that contrasted everything he knew about the blind metalbender.

He muttered, "Oh," because he did not know what else to say.

There was no reply to this. He shifted his weight on his feet and stared blankly into the door. This wasn't going as well as he had planned.

"Uh—can I…can I come in?"

Nothing.

"Toph?"

"Idiot," the raspy voice stated brashly.

He blinked and pushed the door open, taking this answer as a yes.

He found his former companion lying on a low mattress, her feet facing the door, her eyes half shut, with a thin white blanket over her body. He gasped because, even though he hated to admit it, she looked beautiful even in this helpless state. Actually, _especially_ in this helpless state.

Sokka moved a few steps closer and tried to get a better view of her face. She was alone, and the room itself was dark and smelled of feminine sweat and used matches. Toph's long ebony hair was tied up weakly with an ivory stick. Her fogged eyes stared bleakly at the wall and her paled hands—almost the color of the mattress—were the only thing on top of the sheet.

Her face was flushed, lips parted, strands of hair out of the bun and over her face. She looked distressed. Sokka kneeled down next to her pillow and bit his lip.

_The doctor was for her_, he thought disgustedly.

Toph was sick—very sick, at that—and it was extremely obvious that he had picked the wrong time to pop in without warning.

"How'd you know it was me?" he asked the side of her head, unsure of what to do. The swell of nervousness poured out of him in the form of perspiration. He wiped his forehead hurriedly. This was horrible. Toph was dying and here he was—a bad memory. A bad friend. A lousy, pompous boy who had just now realized what a poor condition his closest friend was in.

"Your steps," she answered after a deep swallow. "Can't talk much," she added.

"I guess I'll talk, then."

He saw the corners of her mouth twitch. Even if he hadn't seen her for four years, he knew what she would have said. "Yeah, Sokka—of course you'll do all the talking! It's all you ever do, anyway."

"Goodness, Toph…I had no idea you were…"

"Sick." It sounded as though she had eaten a stack of sandpaper.

Sokka looked about the room frantically. "You need water."

He saw her pointer finger tremble. He realized dimly that she could barely move. "Won't help," she said flatly.

His head fell. He looked awkwardly at his knees. There was no reason for him to feel this guilty, and yet he couldn't help it. Seeing Toph this way after so long made his stomach turn itself into knots.

"Talk?" she asked.

"I'll talk," he answered quickly. "Don't talk anymore. It's hurting you." The muscles over her throat moved up and down. "Dear God," he murmured, looking at her face again. "Dear God…"

"Anemia," she said, talking against his orders. "Blood problem."

There was a lack of iron in her system. It was like having a form of malnutrition. But Katara had also had anemia for a short while, Sokka recalled, when they were still kids, and it hadn't been this bad. Toph's condition, he knew now, was serious. He murmured, because he needed to, "Toph—I'm…I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

She heard him silence a sob. She felt him shuffle around next to her. Then the heat of his breath was right next to her cheek, and he was whispering.

"This is all my fault," he started, his voice cracking. "I knew something was wrong…I had to come down here and check. You're sick! I've never seen you this way before. Dear _God_!" He slapped a hand against his chest. "I feel like someone just…just stabbed me in the back or something. All this time I didn't talk to you, you were down here…you were sick."

"Not too bad," the girl answered, true to her sturdy nature. She breathed in clumsily.

"Don't talk anymore—please. It's hurting you. It's not worth it. Just listen to me."

"Listening," she grunted.

Seeing Toph like this had destroyed every vision of their reunion he had came up with. She was pale and sick and could barely move or talk. She was in need of medicine and a doctor and various other forms of attention that he was not able to give. He couldn't help it. When he spoke, tears fell from his eyes.

"God, Toph—I should have never yelled at you. I should have never given you all that shit about Suki and my dad…"

Her lips squeezed shut. It was the most movement he had seen out of her in the few moments he had been in here.

"You weren't jealous of me and Suki—you weren't jealous of the wedding. And I knew you weren't…but when she died…I don't know what was wrong with me. I just needed to place the blame—and look where it got us…I'm such an idiot…I'm such a damn idiot."

He was surprised that he was being so open, but the fact that Toph could barely answer helped move his confession along.

"Not too bad," she repeated in the same raspy tone, but he could see the wetness against her own eyelids, and he felt at peace, because even if she was sick, she had at least understood him.

He stopped talking. He was close enough to see her blink her tears away.

"Still next to me?" she asked him.

Sokka nodded even though he knew she couldn't see it. "Yeah, I'm right here. I'm not going to leave."

And suddenly it happened.

The weak frame of girl moved up slowly. Her paled arm reached for his head. After some inexperienced fumbling she found his cheek, and cupped it in her hand and felt his face.

"You…were crying," she managed, feeling the cool moisture against the skin of her fingers.

She felt him encase his own hand over hers. "I'm so sorry," he murmured.

Toph tried to sit up. With Sokka's help, she fixated herself over the mattress, her back curved in a sitting position. He could tell that she was exerting a good amount of effort to hold her weight, and it touched him to see that she hadn't changed—with or without the illness that was currently plaguing her—with or without the argument he had started four years ago.

He asked gently, "What are you doing?"

She pulled her other hand away from the sheets and grasped the other side of his head into her fingers. He saw her concentrating, feeling the vibrations and the warmth of his face. Sokka was expecting it—but it still came as a surprise—when she leaned forward and pressed her lips softly to his mouth.

Toph was so delicate that he felt as though he were kissing paper. Despite being sick, she didn't prove to have rancid breath. Everything simply smelled like used matches or like sweat. Her lips tasted like salt.

She had kissed him once before, when he was engaged to Suki. It was an accident and she hadn't meant to do it. But _this_ was completely intentional, and seemed to happen without a second thought.

When she pulled away, exhausted at the effort, he tilted himself forward and returned the favor. Her head fell deeper against the silky pillow that smelled like her skin. She felt Sokka move his fingers into the length of her hair. His tongue was muscular and—she thought—rather large, but when he pushed himself into her mouth, he did it in the most tender, delicate manner. Not wanting to break her. Not wanting to hurt her. Not ever again.

She sighed desperately, quietly, confusedly, into his mouth. And then the kiss was over. He looked at her useless eyes and realized her face had regained some of its color.

"I _was_ jealous," Toph admitted, squinting. The rasp was still there, but it seemed less persistent. For some reason, she spoke with a newfound ease. "But that doesn't mean I planned to have her killed."

He reached for her hand again. He had been waiting for this answer—for this confession. Any sort of confession to settle the confusion and the guilt he was always feeling. "You were jealous?"

"Yes."

He asked pompously, but with a tinge of seriousness in his voice, "Because you loved me?"

She replied steadily, again without a second thought, "I still love you. Even when you guys were all mad at each other. Even now."

He relaxed his shoulders. One of his reunion visions was coming to life. "I love you, too," he confessed softly. "I don't think I knew it back then. But I know it now…when I saw you like this…and when we kissed."

He realized that the little burst of energy that had enabled Toph to kiss him was slowly dying out. She slumped back into her sleeping position. Her skin paled up again and her lips and eyelids both parted halfway.

"Now you know," she said huskily, in reference to her own admittance.

"Where are you parents?"

"Their room," she answered with a hesitant cough. "Letters to doctors."

"From Ba Sing Sei. One of your servants told me." He looked down at this hands, considering this. The guilt and the nervousness swelled into his heart again. He asked, although it sounded more like a command, "You're going to get better?"

"Idiot," the raspy voice answered. He looked at her, surprised. "Toph Bei Fong doesn't go down without a fight."

She took the extra effort of smiling, which he could tell wasn't an easy task. But she smiled anyway—a full, toothy, childish grin. He smiled back and wished she could see him.

"You're beautiful," he started. "I'm so glad I came back to see you."

Toph seemed distant. "Me too."

"I have to leave now, but I'm going to come back." He squeezed her hand a little tighter. "I'm coming everyday. I just have some scrolls that apparently came in from Gran Gran and someone in this Earth Kingdom city. I have to read them. But I'm coming back tomorrow. I promise."

He saw her nod faintly. When he left he tried to memorize the smell of her room, and how it looked like, and how Toph looked like, and what their kiss had awakened within him—a deep excitement he had only felt for Suki before.

The motel he had decided to stay in was situated in central Gao Ling, fairly close to the Bei Fong property. When he got there that evening and took a closer look at the scrolls, his eyes widened and he gasped involuntarily.

It wasn't Gran Gran, it was Katara. And it wasn't just anyone in any Earth Kingdom city—it was Aang, in a city only a few miles away from Gao Ling.

Sokka held each scroll in either fist looked at them. Opening them would mean that he had forgiven his sister as well as the Avatar. Ignoring them could be dangerous, and presumably stupid if something big was happening in their corners of the world.

"What could they possibly want to tell me?" he asked himself, looking at the scrolls again. "There's nothing left to say."

And he knew he forgave them, too. That wasn't the reason. Sokka knew that, deep down, he was afraid. Afraid because scrolls this late into an argument could only mean bad news.

He kept the letters, closed and undisturbed, on the small table in his motel room. His thoughts were preoccupied with Toph's condition, and what he was going to do to help her.

It was then—very, very early the next morning—the thought of Katara being a waterbender struck him. He sprung out of the bed and touched his sister's letter.

"Katara can heal her," he said. His voice echoed against the thin walls of the dark room. Hearing her name come out of his mouth after so long made him shiver.

But then he paused and let go of the scroll. He decided it would be best to take them both to Toph and read them there. It helped to have an audience. It helped to have someone there telling you what to think and how to think it.

After all, if Sokka had learned anything in the time he had been away, it was simply this: sometimes—most of the time, actually—the world becomes too big to handle alone. And that is when we realize what large mistakes we make.

But that is also when we learn how to fix them.


	4. Toph

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary: "**Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note**: Poppy and Lao are Toph's real parents (the exact names from the show! Who would have guessed?)

I realize that this chapter is very short and—while it does answer a lot of questions—it leaves a lot about the last chapter open for discussion. We have to realize that Toph is very sick. Anemia can be serious in its more complicated forms. I happen to have a very mild condition of the disease myself, actually.

I also figured Toph wouldn't really be able to _do_ much, besides sit in her bed and remember, but this will come in handy for better understanding, and also understanding the title "Letters from the _Falling Sky_."

Happy reading!

-scorpiored112

* * *

.4.

The last two years of her life had become a blur. She ate and slept and took medication and relieved herself when the need struck. There was no negotiation with the doctors—although she had tried asking—no matter what, earthbending was out of the question.

Though she knew—through the cloudy weakness and the lack of energy—that the situation was morbid, she couldn't help but laugh out loud, sometimes, when she thought of it. How _ironic_! How simply, purely ironic it was…for the only metalbender in the world…to have iron deficiency.

How ironic, and how realistic. Various doctors had told her that she wouldn't see her twenty third birthday. Yet, for some reason, this didn't shake her. It _was_ morbid; but Toph thought it was also funny.

On the days that the former bender _could_ cackle to herself, she knew she was having a good day. Good days—energetic days—came rarely and, when they did come, she tried her best to enjoy them. But laughing to herself only made her parents worry more. On quite a few occasions, her father, Lao, or her mother, Poppy, would peek in and exchange glances.

"Is that normal?" Poppy would ask in distress. "God, Lao—look at her! What's so funny?"

Her father would respond, with a heavy heart, "Perhaps she's going mad."

"Remind me to tell the doctor," her mother would mutter, looking about the room frantically, as if the joke was written on the walls.

And Toph, with the weight of the world on her chest, would continue laughing.

They fed her liver and red meat and steaks. They gave her iron supplements and made arrangements for blood transfusions. Vitamins were a must. As servants came and went, feeding her and watching her and asking her—over and over again—"what is so funny?", Toph merely sat back and observed.

Dreaming, in spite of everything, was one of the few things left that she _could_ do.

And so she dreamt.

And she remembered.

And as she sat there—ill and sick of living—visions came and went and made their way around the shadows in her skull.

_A memory_.

There is some squirming and a struggle in the room next door. She knows she shouldn't be listening but she can't help it. She holds her ears to the wall and presses her hands up against the cool, earthen floorboards.

Katara mutters, stumbling on the words, "Aang…I—I don't know if we—I don't know if I…"

She hears him say, in a smooth and rolling voice, "I love you, Katara."

His lover pauses, still jittery. "I know—I know you do but—"

Toph wants to go inside and separate them. She knows Katara wants to wait. She has been complaining about Aang's behavior for the past two months.

She feels another article of light clothing float gently to the floor.

Her voice is hesitant. Toph wonders how Katara can be so helpless. She feels her try to gently pry him off, but he doesn't move. "Aang…I don't know."

"Why don't you know?"

She is still underneath him, but she has found her reasons. "Because…we have other things to worry about. Sokka's getting married tonight. We should be getting ready."

Aang doesn't answer. She hears an unsteady, impatient grunt.

"I don't know," the girl continues. "This doesn't feel like the right time."

"Do you love me?"

"…What?"

"Do you love me, Katara?" It sounds like there is only one answer. There is a series of shuffling. Toph analyzes this conversation with a strange expression over her face. If Sokka ever found out, he would kill them both.

Disgusted, she stops listening.

_A dream.  
_

Sokka asks her bitterly, feeling his lips with his forefingers, "Why did you kiss me?"

She doesn't answer because she doesn't believe there _is_ an answer. There is no way she can reply to this while holding on to her dignity.

"Why did you kiss me?" he repeats. "You know I'm engaged to Suki. You know it."

"I know."

"Then why'd you do it?"

"Why are _you_ getting all angry?" she inquires finally. Her hands are shaking and her face is three different shades of pink. "God! It was a mistake! It was an accident. I'll never kiss you again!"

He murmurs, with a spiteful air, "Good. I don't want to kiss you and I don't want you to kiss me. I'm engaged to Suki, Toph. You're like a sister to me."

_A nightmare.  
_

There are two bodies in the reception room. They have the shape of bodies and the air smells of blood and rot. They don't have a heartbeat. They have nothing but shape. Toph thinks to herself, _what is this world coming to?_

She doesn't remember when Sokka appeared in the arched doorway. He has his club. His fists are tight and he is looking over at the corpses. Of all the deaths they had seen in the Great War, these two hold a new significance.

His fiancé in her white kimono.

His father in his tribal wear.

Butchered hours before the wedding.

It seems that no matter how many times he looks at them, the vision will not process.

"This is all your fault," he is repeating, spitting the words out loudly. "This is all your fault, you fucking bastard!"

Aang is holding the letter they had found attached to Hakoda's forehead. Later she would find out what it said—

_The sky falls in pieces. But when the world ends, it happens all at once._

"The resistance was after you, you damn bastard! You're nothing but a waste! They were here for you. Damn it! They were here for _you_!" He is swinging the club, dancing to the words. Toph recesses into the corner. She wants to stop him, but she doesn't want to hurt him. Sokka can be described perfectly with the term "ferocious."

The Avatar is spilling out excuses. Apologies. But Sokka is older and more agile and with his club, he is a killing machine. The balled end of the weapon hits Aang squarely in the back.

Toph hears him cough out a stream of blood and double over.

Katara, thus far sitting in the doorway, stops crying and stands up and grabs her brother's arms. The tears mix in with the words and her voice isn't helpless. It's a deadly hiss that escapes through clenched teeth.

"Stop it, Sokka! Stop it!" He throws her off of him and makes his way to Aang. She calls, "It's not his fault! Leave him alone—he didn't mean for this to happen. Please, Sokka, _please._ Stop! _Please_ leave him alone."

She has grabbed his ankles. Her brother turns his face down to her. Toph hears his heartbeat skip around in his chest. It is as if he has realized something larger than the universe.

He looks at Aang and then at Katara and then the club drops and he grabs his sister's hair.

"Why are you protecting him?" he asks crossly. "Our father is _dead_! Why are you protecting him, Katara? Answer me!"

"Because it's not his fault," she exclaims madly. Only Toph knows that this is the second man she is wrestling against this afternoon.

"You filthy whore!" he spits into her face, casting out the realization. "You've slept with him, haven't you?"

Katara doesn't say anything. She's crying again. Toph assumes it is the shock—because how can Sokka know, possibly? And how can he ask her so clearly, to her face?  
Her brother repeats, "Answer me!"

"No—no! We haven't. That's not the point. Who told you? Let go of me!"

Even though he throws her, Toph knows it's not with all of his strength. He looks at Aang and the puddle of blood that has accumulated under him. He turns aggressively to Toph.

"Toph!" he bellows, approaching her with heavy steps. "Did they sleep together or not?"

The world is suddenly covered with a film of haze.

"Is my sister lying?" he asks the earthbender, grabbing her arm. "Tell me the truth, Toph. Tell me, now!"

She doesn't know what to do. She wants to please Sokka but she wants the fight to end. The truth will make everyone in the room only hate each other more than they already do. Katara will hate her. Aang will hate her. Sokka will despise both of them and probably finish off Aang's beating.

And she wants to please Sokka so much. And perhaps it is the jealousy. Perhaps it is the heat of the moment. Toph doesn't know anymore.

Why? Why did she say anything at all? Why couldn't she have left?

The coat of haze turns into a whirlwind. She can't remember what happens next.

_A flare.  
_

"You planned to have her killed, didn't you?"

"No. No, I didn't."

"You were jealous, weren't you?"

"No, Sokka. I wasn't."

"You're just as much of a whore as Katara is!"

"Sokka, stop."

"You killed her! You planned to have her killed and now she's dead! I hate you!"

"Sokka, please."

"I hate you! I can't stand any of you! It was Aang—and it was you! She's gone! Suki's gone forever."

"Stop, Sokka. Calm down…please. Please, Sokka. Think about what you're saying. Think about what you're doing, for once."

_A goodbye.  
_

Two figures at the hotel balcony. Toph, behind another wall, sobbing as quietly as she can, thinks to herself bitterly, _Everything is coming in twos today._

The man touches the woman's waist and she shies away from him. When he kisses her exposed shoulder she complains that now isn't the right time.

"You've become so hesitant," the man says brashly, finally getting the message and keeping his distance.

The woman sighs in an agitated way and looks over the rails and buries her face in her hands. Toph senses a swell inside both of them—rising, making its way to the surface.

The man asks, touching her back against her will, "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"What's wrong?"

"Leave me alone, Aang. Please."

"Tell me what's bothering you. We can work it out together."

The swell erupts like crashing glass. So delicate. So fine. And yet, shattered into so many fibers. Exposed. The swell has reached the surface and comes out without any more initiation.

She screeches, pulling at her face, "I wanted to marry you first, Aang—I wanted to marry you."

Toph feels the looming vacancy. She doesn't want to listen any more. Their world is crashing. Two deaths, two lovers, two siblings. She doesn't have a place here. This is their fight, but she's here as well, listening. Observing. Wondering what the world is coming to, and—simply because she is an idiot—telling the truth.

Katara grabs his collar. "While the resistance was inside killing my father," she jeered loudly, "you were in my hotel room, _doing_ me."

"Katara—I—"

She repeats angrily, "I wanted to marry you first," and releases her grip on his clothes and turns back and looks at the moon.

The desperation is almost too noticeable. "Katara, I _want_ to marry you. I'm _going_ to marry you."

She returns without hesitation, "No, you're not."

"What do you mean?"

Toph sits and listens because she is afraid. She doesn't want the delicate web of things to be further disrupted. But she has never understood this waterbender. She doesn't understand why she grabs Aang's collar again and kisses him as deeply as she can.

Maybe it's because she still loves him. Maybe it's because Toph can feel another small thing inside Katara, growing rapidly, like a wave. Another delicate web of life.

Katara murmurs against his lips, "I can't handle this anymore. I can't handle you or the resistance. You're possessive. You're scaring me." She adds confidently, because Sokka is no longer speaking to her, "I'm leaving you."

"What?" He pulls away to look her in the eyes. There is a tremor in his voice. "But—but you can't—"

"You've ruined everything," she mutters. "Sokka is leaving tomorrow morning. Toph is heading for Gao Ling. Thanks to you. Thanks to the resistance. I have to leave."

"But Katara!" He is such a stubborn boy. But nothing can make him out to be a bad person. He moans, "I love you! Doesn't that mean anything? We were going to do it anyway!"

She answers with a shaky pitch, "It's not about that. It's for the best."

"Katara," he begs, "_please_! You don't have to leave me. You _don't_!"

She doesn't say anything. Her head is low. She turns to go inside and doesn't look back once.

Toph hears a fully realized Avatar sobbing. She hears Katara silence the noises that threaten to release themselves as she packs her things.

Two deaths, two lovers, two siblings, one earthbender.

One memory, one dream, one nightmare, one flare, one goodbye.

One little child born in the South Pole nine months later.

One Avatar looking for his place in an unsettled universe.

One warrior who couldn't find the courage in his own heart to forgive.

_A reality. _

Things more complex than war had finally torn them apart. So when Sokka came to Toph's room the next day with two scrolls and a head full of worries, they both knew what they had to do.

He pulled out a brush and a small bottle of ink. No tearful confessions, no apologies. But a letter. Toph told him what to write. He added a few things of his own, scribbling them down in the handwriting he had never grown comfortable with. He couldn't get over the fact that his grandmother was gone forever, but his sister had a daughter. He had a niece.

There was a string of hope in a girl named Kya Lynn. Kya, who was also dead. Lynn, because it was a common name—because Katara hadn't felt very special when she had given birth to her—because she felt that the girl was a mistake.

Sokka wrote,

_I think we need each other now, Katara. I don't know if Aang has sent anything back to you. It hardly matters. My news isn't nearly as shocking as yours but here it is: Toph has a severe case of anemia. I brought her stewed sea prunes because I remember that's what Mom gave you when you were sick. She needs your help. I can barely do anything. _

They made arrangements to go to the South Pole. Sokka told his sister that it would be hard. Toph could barely walk and they didn't have a flying bison like Aang did. But it was still a must. He inquired about his niece's health and told Katara to give her twenty kisses, an old tribal saying they had grown up with.

He wrote later, because Toph told him to, _You're still my sister. You'll always be, no matter how upset I am. No matter what this world is coming to_.


	5. Kya Lynn

Letters from the Trade Winds

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary: "**Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note**: This chapter was the hardest to start and one of the hardest to finish. It's super long and, for reasons unknown to me, I just didn't feel right writing it. It was just _difficult_! As a warning, it's also pretty creepy, but hopefully none of you will be horrified enough to stop reading.

I'd like to mention that about half of the "creepy facts" in this fiction are taken from stories that actually occurred in my cultural community. Yes sir—this stuff actually happens—it's real!

Again I thank my dedicated reviewers and encourage those of you who just read to share your thoughts with me. Tell me what your favorite line was, how you felt when you finished the chapter, what you want me to change or add later on…stuff like that. I'm always happy to hear it!

_This chapter_: Pay attention to the reoccurring stone/apple image.

And of course, as always, happy reading!

-scorpiored112

* * *

.5.

She groped around stupidly in the darkness of their bedroom, feeling for her daughter's face. Still half asleep, still groggy. Kya Lynn's cheek felt so small and perfect in her hand—Katara had to sigh to herself, relieved to find her here, breathing and living, on the tiny mattress next to her own.

Another dream. More recollections. Gran Gran's death had awakened so many sensations that had lay dormant before. They woke up and danced in her mind whenever she drifted off to sleep.

She dreamt of her grandmother. Sometimes she dreamt of her parents laughing and kissing and fussing over every little detail being flawless. In her dreams they were not dead. They were alive and young and still in love.

She often saw Toph—or, more so, a paler version of Toph—resting in an igloo, complaining about her condition. It was Sokka's scroll that had affirmed this dream to be a reality. They would be coming soon for an overdue healing session.

Sometimes, more often than not, Katara saw the Avatar on top of her trembling frame, holding her wrists down over her head, breathing into her neck, murmuring words of encouragement and protection—their last night. The night she had given herself to him.

The night their hearts had beat together.

The night Kya Lynn was conceived.

As it goes, she always had to wake up to see if it was real—if it had happened. And the proof slept in the same room, oblivious to her mothers troubles.

_She's such a beautiful little girl,_ Katara thought to herself, still trying to open her eyes.

Kya Lynn's face was warm and smooth against her fingers. It reminded Katara suddenly of a fresh apple—picked from a tree, still balmy because of the sun, delicate because if the skin was penetrated, all of the juices would rot away. And inside there is a precious seed. Inside there is a soul who laughs just like Aang used to.

She was too sleepy to start hating herself again, but she couldn't help it. Why did Lynnie have to look _exactly_ like _him_?

Gran Gran had told her once that you could measure a wife's love for her husband by their first child. If it looked like the father, then the wife loved him and would love him forever. If the first child looked like the mother, than the wife only loved herself and didn't think her hubby attractive. Predominantly, the baby's looks were based on adoration for one another, but little else.

Katara, blushing at this, pulled her fingers through Kya Lynn's hair, the only indication that the girl was hers just as much as she was Aang's. She was always amazed at how identical their curly waves were—how precisely similar, in texture and feel and shade. She remembered faintly that Aang's hair was course and dark.

Kya's eyes fluttered open. She looked up wordlessly from her spot.

They said nothing. The girl had grown used to Katara's stares and no longer protested them. She knew the woman had recently become a more detached type of person. She knew that Katara saw Aang in her eyes—in her face and on her skin.

"Go back to sleep, darling," Katara ordered after a moment of stillness. "I'm sorry I woke you—go back to sleep now, Lynnie."

Kya Lynn sat up and drew her knees to her chest. Her little stuffed bison sat nobly at her side. Aang's spitting image.

"Go back to sleep," the waterbender stated a little louder, suddenly bothered by Kya Lynn's appearance.

The girl asked quietly, "Did you have a nightmare, Mama?"

Katara frowned expressionlessly.

"That's why you wake up every night, isn't it?"

"Lynnie—"

"I have nightmares too," the girl admitted, and then added, so that Katara could barely hear, "I told you to call me Kya."

"It's nothing. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

The tone was recognizable. Cold and metallic and sure. Her mother often flipped like this. One minute she was whispering "darling" and "dearest" while brushing her hair or dressing her, the next minute she was spitting out cold, frigid words, and narrowing her eyes and grimacing.

And she had heard that tone so clearly before, when Katara had screeched into the night just days ago, breathing as shallowly as she could, "While my father was being assassinated—you were holding me down and doing me! Get your filthy hands off of me! Leave me alone!"

But Kya Lynn was only four years old and while she was a clever girl, she wasn't a psychologist. She didn't know what this meant and doubted it had anything to do with her.

Her daughter asked, ignoring the fact that Katara had already fallen back on her mattress, "What did you dream about?"

"Nothing. Go to sleep, Lynnie."

"Kya."

"It's late," her mother fused lazily. "Please go back to bed. I promise I won't wake you again."

Katara wasn't looking at her. She was lying on her side, closing her eyes and talking to the wall. The fatigue was brushing against her skin—drawing into her bones like a stream of ice. Days without sleep had left her limbs weak and useless.

So it came as a surprise when Kya Lynn suddenly appeared in front of her, cuddling into the blankets and nuzzling against her mother's chest. It was enough to make the healer gasp slightly while making room. Lynnie was so quick, but always such a hassle.

"Are you sure you want to sleep here?" her mother asked greedily, rubbing her forehead. "It's kind of small."

"It'll be okay, Mama. I want to be next to you."

Katara bit her lip.

"Will you tell me about your dreams?" Kya Lynn inquired into the woman's neck. "And about why you scream and talk sometimes? And the story of how I was born and how Gran Gran said it was lucky and how my eyes were silver? And what Baba said in the thirty letters he sent the other day?"

She could hear the smile in Kya's voice, the exuberance and care she took when she spoke. So articulate…and for some reason, so foreign. "That's a lot, Lynnie. I don't know if we have time."

"Is Baba coming home?"

"I don't know. Maybe." She didn't want to make any promises. She didn't want to tell her daughter anything concerning the airbender who had sent her all those letters just a day ago. She hadn't read them out loud. She had read them silently to herself in Gran Gran's room.

"Is Sokka coming too?"

Katara opened her eyes. "Who told you about Sokka?" And then she added, because she was honestly shocked, "Dearest, how do you know all of this?"

"Can we visit Kyoshi sometime?"

"Lynnie!"

"What?"

"How do you—who told you about…" She sighed desperately and repeated, "Lynnie, how do you know all of this?"

Her daughter pressed closer to her. "I don't know. I just kind of…remember it."

Again there was a silence. Kya Lynn didn't add anything and Katara did push her to. There was something ominous about their igloo—something beating and throbbing around their bodies, in their blankets, over their identical heads.

Katara stated finally, ignoring the feeling of being watched, "Kyoshi Island is in the Earth Kingdom."

"I know," Kya Lynn replied tediously. "South of Ba Sing Sei, created by Avatar Kyoshi, who broke it away from the main land." She paused and took a deep, reflective breath. "I don't know why, Mama. But I remember it. Is that weird?"

"Maybe, darling. Maybe it's a little weird."

"I miss Sokka."

Her mother laughed. While it wasn't bitter, it certainly had a mocking ring to it. "Please, dear—you've never seen him before. And call him Uncle Sokka, if you have to bring him up."

Kya Lynn said, with just as bitter of a laugh, "Katara—he's not my uncle."

Her mother looked down at her, startled and suddenly anxious. Something was wrong. Kya had never referred to her by her first name, and she knew very well (thanks to Gran Gran) that Sokka was her brother. There was some sort of invisible presence in the room—in her daughter—that seemed to engorge her senses as well as her words.

"Wait—what did you just call me?"

And suddenly the child began crying. Though it was subtle, her body was trembling, shuddering violently against her mother's chest.

"Lynnie—calm down, darling, calm down! Goodness—what's wrong with you?"

The girl asked forcefully, through the sobs and screams, "Do you know how they killed me, Katara? Do you know how they did it?"

"What on earth are you talking about?" Katara exclaimed quietly, turning her daughter's face in her hands. Kya Lynn sat up, still wavering and weeping, and clung to Katara's shoulders. Her voice became louder. More sure—more articulate.

"They slit my throat, Katara—right here. Do you see it? It's probably gone." She wasn't looking at her mother when she traced the imaginary scar. She was looking through her, eyes wide but somehow also narrow, contorting her face in the darkness and making the strangest noises either had yet to hear. "And did you know," she continued confidently, wiping her eyes and shaking, "I barely saw it coming! Katara—look at me! Look at me! They've killed me, Katara! On the day before my wedding—they came in and killed me. How is that lucky? Why should I be born with silver eyes?"

"Oh God," Katara muttered, covering her mouth. "Oh God." She touched her daughter's forehead. When the girl looked up her face was paled and hollow. She no longer felt like an apple. She felt like a stone. "Oh God—Suki?"

"Kya—call me Kya," the child screeched, grimacing. "Call me Kya—after my mother-in-law—for heaven's sake!"

"Oh God."

Katara didn't know what to feel. She wondered how she hadn't noticed it before. The day Kya Lynn had been conceived was the same day Suki had been murdered—it had all been planned out in such a perfect way.

She knew reincarnation wasn't restricted to the Avatar. It happened all over. Brown hair and pale skin. While she looked a little like Suki, she had always had the former bride's skill—her quick movements and her fiery spirit. Her spunk. Gran Gran had said once, long ago, that it usually took a good four years for children to remember—if they ever did—who they had been in a past life.

When Kya Lynn's weeping finally slowed down, she straightened herself and wiped her eyes again, looking at her mother with a strange expression. "It is so hard," she admitted, as if just dawning upon the fact, "to live two lives like this."

"You'll end up forgetting," Katara stated absentmindedly. And though it sounded mean and rather unconcerned, they both knew it was the truth. The memory wouldn't last. Eventually Suki would drift away and Kya Lynn would remain Kya Lynn—a witty tribal child who took life as it came.

Katara touched the girl's shoulder and held her close. Her daughter felt so pathetic and fragile, and it hurt Katara to find that she was still shaking. "It'll be okay, darling," she whispered awkwardly. Who would have thought, she wondered quietly to herself. Who would have thought.

Katara asked delicately into her hair, because she knew she needed to, "Who did it, Suki? How did they kill you?"

Kya Lynn cleared her throat and coughed into their blanket.

"Suki?"

"Two men," the girl recalled, bunching her shoulders. "They had serrated knives. I can barely remember them. But I know they were there for us. They knew who we were."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean they weren't looking for Aang," Lynnie answered flatly. "They were there for me and Hakoda. They must have recognized us as leaders from the Boiling Rock all that while ago."

"The Fire Nation prison?"

"Yes."

"But…" Katara shook her head, as if the physical activity would help bring the thoughts back to her. This new fact, for some reason, did not process. "But—the resistance…I thought they only wanted the Avatar."

Kya Lynn paused and turned around to look at Katara's face. Her eyes were conspicuously silver. "They're after anyone who opposed the Fire Nation under Ozai. But I doubt they're a big enough group to take on the Avatar. They killed us because they saw us as easy targets,"—her fists tightened here and her teeth rubbed against each other when she continued—"they did it to scare you guys, to tear you apart." And then the girl diverted her gaze and turned her attention to Aang's thirty perfect scrolls, kept in a pile on Katara's desk. "I see they've succeeded," she murmured faintly.

_The sky falls in pieces. But when the world ends, it happens all at once. _

"Katara?"

"Oh God."

The healer slapped her hands to her face. Perhaps it was seeing her daughter talk with such obscure knowledge. Perhaps it was the fact that, by mentioning the resistance, Katara had remembered her daughter's father, as well as her own father. What a stupid mistake Sokka had made by blaming Aang! All that while four years ago, they were after Suki and Hakoda.

"It's not your fault," Kya Lynn whispered. "Katara, it'll be okay."

"No..." Katara murmured "No! I'm such a damn idiot! How could I have let this happen?" She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "All this time…it was planned. It was a waste!"

"It's not your fault." The girl's tiny hands wrapped around her mother's shoulders. Kya Lynn's soft voice chirped, "Mama, you're scaring me."

Katara wiped her dry eyes with the heel of her palm. She sighed and held Kya Lynn close and muttered honestly, "I don't know what to call you anymore. This is so hard for me."

"Call me Kya, like I told you when Gran Gran died."

And just like that, the deep voice and the trembling were gone. Kya Lynn stared up at her mother with large, guiltless eyes and a blank expression. It had only been a passion. A state. Maybe it would come back, but they both hoped it wouldn't.

Katara stared into the wall of their igloo. "Kya," she whispered. "That was my mother's name." She was silent for a moment, trying to reminisce her own mother's face. Tonight, though she had yet to cry, Katara had released so much, and suddenly felt the need to start a fresh page. She needed to admit. "I'm sorry, Lynnie," she murmured with a sigh, "I—I just can't. It's too hard. I can't do it." She paused, feeling her daughter's enthusiasm die out. "But you know," her mother scolded, trying to smile, "I've always liked the name Lynnie. I've always called you that. And, to be honest, darling, I think it's grown on you."

"Yeah?"

"Sure," the healer started, laughing. "_Lynnie_. It's such a pretty name. It's beautiful."

"Pakku says it's plain," Kya Lynn whispered, obviously hurt. "He says it's as common as Lei."

"It is common," Katara replied evenly, making a mental note to straighten her grandfather's manners. "But it's special. It fits you." She hugged her daughter closer. For the first time in weeks, both of them were laughing.

When the fit of giggles settled, Katara looked at her daughter. "Lynnie," she started, "I need to ask you a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"Please, darling—don't call me Katara anymore. Call me Mama, like you always do."

"I never called you Katara," the girl returned innocently, playing with the buttons on her mother's robe. "That's only what grown ups call you."

Katara blinked. Whatever manifestation that had proved itself to be Suki had left her daughter's body—memories and screams and terrors and all.

"Is Baba coming back?"

"Yes," Katara answered impulsively. "Yes, he's coming back, dearest. And so is your uncle, and an old friend of ours."

Kya Lynn sensed as though she had just excelled in making an intricate business deal with her mother and nodded off to sleep without further protest. No more interruptions from Suki, no more ghosts from Gran Gran. Just Kya Lynn and her tiny bison in the middle of an igloo, breathing and living and there.

Katara, meanwhile, walked into the study and picked up the letter she had received from Sokka and Toph. Sleep was gone and, as she knew from experience, probably wouldn't come back. From the way the letter read, her brother and his invalid would be arriving first.

Then she opened one of the thirty scrolls from Aang and squinted to read it. A line in the middle said, taken purely out of context, _I just felt as though I was never going to see you again. And every day it was only getting worse. It was a feeling, Katara. A stupid impulse that I am still ashamed of._

Another line, again out of context, _I never wanted you to pay for my mistakes._

Three words on a line by themselves, _I love you._

Another three. _I'm coming back._

She had begun to see Aang in a new light. He was not the traitor that Sokka had made him out to be. No—she could no longer deny it. When she had slept with him four years ago she had done it because she loved him, because she had _wanted _to, because she had wanted _him_.

Because, no matter what had happened in the reception room, she knew now that it was not Aang's fault. She knew she had let anger and sadness get in the way of their adoration for each other—for the possessive love that he had sprawled before them. For everything.

When his thirty scrolls had come in she had dreaded his arrival. But now, so early that it was still dark outside, she waited eagerly for him to come back and take her. To pull her out of her desperation like he had done when he had escaped from that iceberg ten years ago.

Love—in its purest form—is like an apple. Because if the skin is penetrated, all of the juices rot away. But inside there is a seed. It grows no matter what happens to the fruit because it is as strong as a silver stone, and just as hard to break.


	6. Sokka and Toph

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary: "**Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note**: I apologize gravely for the wait. School has started here in my neck of the woods and thus, my readers—as well as myself—must all suffer the consequences. Ah, the educational system…

This chapter came up short but actually, it was really entertaining to write. A little bit of drama. For those of you who go back to read the reviews for chapter five, a very, VERY clever reviewer of mine skillfully stated, quite accurately, that "Sukka needs to close before Tokka can start."

I'm glad someone caught on to that line of thought I was going for. There's a reason Kya Lynn is a reincarnate! There's a reference to chapter four, when Toph remembers things. Keep an eye out.

I didn't want to rush the reunion, which will hopefully happen in the next chapter. I would say everything should amount to a maximum of ten chapters—if even—but nothing beyond that. We can thank various rambling stories that I have written that exceeded ten chapters. _Extremely_ scary thought, people, let me tell you.

As always, I thank my wonderful reviewers and—if I'm not already responding to your feedback—please, _please_ either sign in, or leave your e-mail address. If you take the time to review, than I feel compelled to reply to you.

Already sick of AP Calculus and Anatomy,

-scorpiored112

* * *

.6.

When he looked into the mirror—which he often did—he did not see a warrior. He saw the lean muscles of an athlete and the hairy limbs of a man. But in his eyes he saw a jealous boy who had envied his sister's happiness and loathed his own undertaking. He saw the face of a mindless, idiotic child.

When he spoke—which he didn't do as often as he used to—he heard the nasally tone of a jealous lover. The same voice that had denied Suki before their wedding. "No, Suki. We're not married yet. I love you too. Just wait. Just one more day. It's in our customs, love. Just one more day."

And when he thought of his sister—which he did everyday—he saw her tearful face when she had left the Avatar. When she had admitted to sleeping with him and told him she regretted it, though he knew she didn't. "It's tradition, Katara! I can't believe you. It's _tradition_. You're a disgrace—you're a shame. You're nothing but a filthy whore."

And when his own words reached his ears he often looked down and stopped whatever he was doing simply to reflect.

He was jealous. Jealous that she had found someone she loved and had given herself to him. He had waited—counted the moments to his wedding—anticipating the feel of Suki beneath his body, breathing her name.

When—suddenly, without a second thought—she had died.

And though he blamed it on the hormones, on his father's death, and on a various other arena of subjects, he knew it was wrong. It was wrong for him to separate two lovers just because he wasn't happy. To tear apart a family of three because his own life had been ruined four years ago.

In the midst of it all, when he felt like a terrible person, he would look at Toph and remember. He was going to help her. He needed to, and maybe this would be his form of redemption.

Maybe the universe would forgive him if he saved Toph's life. It was a selfish thought, but it was the truth.

But the cargo ship was big and metallic and stale and when he carried Toph there and placed her in the chamber they were supposed to share, he couldn't help but wonder if this was all a bad idea.

She was still sick. And though taking her out of the house had refreshed her memory on what the outside world was like, she was still too weak to really _do_ anything about it. Toph Bei Fong was a manifestation of weakness. She wanted to earthbend but couldn't. Placing her on a metallic monstrosity of steel made her sigh desperately. She wanted so badly to stick her fingers into the frame of the boat and manipulate it. But she couldn't.

It would never work and—even if it did—there was a pretty good chance it would kill her.

The room they were supposed to share had two low cots and a small window in the door leading to the hallway. It smelled damp and reminded Sokka of his father's fleet of ships, which comforted him a little until he remembered that Toph had a history of seasickness. When he put her down he made a face and scratched the back of his neck, absentmindedly looking around their room for a bucket.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked her when his search proved ineffective. "We're going to be traveling pretty fast. It's a one-way trip."

She mouthed, "Fine," and turned to her side. Her pale hands reached for the collection of blankets at the end of the cot and pulled them up to her shoulders.

Sokka began looking around the rest of their room to prevent himself from looking at her. Toph's helplessness, as sick as it sounded, was taking a toll on his morals. About six times since they had left the Bei Fong estate hours ago, he had imagined himself making love to her. It was such a stupid thing to envision and made him feel like some sort of pervert, but he couldn't help it. Toph's white skin and full chest and fragile smell, the way she had become like a damsel in distress, had abruptly awakened his appetite for the opposite sex.

He found a cracked mirror near the end of his own cot and looked into it. It was situated on the door of an empty closet. If he were to lie down he would be able to see himself through his feet—which meant that he would also be able to see Toph. He removed his jacket and pants, not noticing their landing location. He sat on the bed, resulting in a squeaking noise, and looked at his reflection.

Toph asked from behind him suddenly, her voice hard and perplexed, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he answered. "Just sitting here. Why?"

"Did you take your clothes off?"

He said after some hesitation, "Well—sort of."

She paused and turned in the cot to face him. Toph asked bluntly, without a trace of her former raspy tone, "What, are you naked?"

Sokka blinked. And though he wasn't naked—though he still had his under garments on—he answered as impulse, "Yes," and then blushed, but didn't correct himself.

He saw Toph frown impassively and turn her face back to the wall. "Why?" she murmured blankly.

"It's just how I go to sleep," he lied, falling back on the mattress. "I hope that doesn't bother you."

"I don't care."

He raised a brow. "You don't?"

"We _are_ on a ship," she continued. "What if someone opens the door? And these mattresses smell like rotten meat. So it's for your own sake, actually, because it's not like I can see you."

He looked into the mirror again, through his feet. He wondered briefly why all of these Toph-related sensations were rising inside of him so rapidly—after four years of not seeing her. He also wondered why he said to her now, "I'll put my clothes back on, if you want me to."

She replied with a tedious sigh, "Whatever."

"You don't mind if I'm naked?" he pressed, looking at her back. "It doesn't bother you?"

The silence afterward was noticeable. His invalid considered what she said before she said it, but came upon the utter conclusion of, "No, it doesn't."

He sat up. She heard him scoot closer to her cot. "Why not?"

"Because it's not like I can see," she repeated with a furious blush, pulling the blankets tighter. "Drop it, will you?"

He was noticeably close to her, which bothered Toph in a sense because he said he was naked, though he wasn't, but she didn't know. "So you're saying," Sokka prodded, "that even though there's a naked guy in the room with you, you don't really mind. Is that it?"

She coughed and answered honestly, "What's the worst you're going to do?" And then she faced the ceiling and sighed quietly, "It's still obvious. You still love Suki. And I'm still sick."

He didn't understand the Suki reference—either that, or he didn't hear it. Sokka's impulsiveness, as well as his relation to Toph, got the better of him. "I think you've gotten better," he teased ignorantly instead, laughing. "That rasp has nearly disappeared. And you're blushing."

She grunted and blinked into the wall. His frame was next to the cot, craning his neck to see the apparent color in her cheeks. "This is getting uncomfortable," she said, and hastily put her hand up to push him away.

But Sokka was a firm man of twenty-six years, and she was a dying girl of twenty-two. So she didn't succeed in pushing him. His bare chest met her hand midway and she just held it there, feeling his heart beat. And the blush exploded into a deeper shade.

"Your hand is cold," he said, reaching for it.

"Sokka—"

Her fingers, smooth and dry, felt like ash in his palm. But when he bent to kiss them she clenched her hand into a fist.

The outburst that erupted from her was spat with a vicious ferocity that Sokka didn't know she possessed. "Go away!" the earthbender cried, finally mustering enough strength to push him back. "Leave me alone, Snoozles! What the hell are you trying to pull?"

He was shocked, which was why he didn't say anything right away. The initial feeling was actually one of guilt and confusion. Toph had kissed him just days before, when she was having a particularly weak day—the first time she had seen him in so long. But it would be a lie to say there hadn't been any changes.

Since when had she remembered _Snoozles_?

He had given her time to think, obviously. And there was something _about_ that time that had changed her mental composition on the ordeal of them being a "couple," which still hadn't quite started yet.

It was in that time alone that _she_ had begun to remember.

His behavior towards her after Suki's death had been far from gentlemanlike. He had called her a number of things, displaced the blame of the murders, and ultimately ruined a fragile friendship with Toph, who was struggling with how to treat him, exactly, and what she was feeling towards the warrior who had refused to love her back.

And now, he thought, looking at her contorted face, his payback was returning in the same form of rejection.

All he could think to say, as he pulled his jacket back over his shoulders, was a simple, "I'm sorry," which Toph did not respond to.

"I didn't mean to…" But there was little else he could add, because the confusion was still there, and because Sokka—in the presence of pretty girls who liked to refuse him—always grew nervous.

In the silence, as night fell over the ocean and the wobbling cargo ship, they said little else.

He gave Toph her iron supplements when he needed to, a total of eight times in four hours. He timed all the other vitamins accurately, as her parents had taught him before their departure. But she didn't thank him and didn't respond to the apologies and questions. When he asked if she was okay, she would answer with an uneven grunt and face the wall.

The tension grew unbearable when, in the morning of their near arrival, Sokka left the room to get breakfast and returned to find Toph sitting up straight as a bolt, crossing her arms and legs on her cot.

He stated unsurely, "You're awake."

"No thanks to you."

He made a face and put the tray of food in front of her, using a small table that fit nicely over the bed. "Rice and tea," he murmured flatly. "You need a vitamin, so when you're done eating, let me know."

"I can take it myself," she hissed, feeling for the set of chopsticks. Sokka watched, captivated and a little unconvinced, as she stabbed blindly at the plate of rice. Her movements were precise and experienced.

"I'd rather give it to you," he said pathetically. "That way I know you're taking it."

"You don't need to know anything," she returned bitterly. "I can take care of myself."

It was the sureness that shocked him to admittance. Just a day ago Toph was dying, and now she seemed to have returned to her former self. But it was also the disrespect she was blatantly displaying.

"What's your problem?" he finally exclaimed, pounding his cot with his fists. "What did I do to you?"

Without warning—and rather quickly—she threw the table off and the tea and rice went flying. "You know damn well what you did!" she screeched, pointing in his general direction. "You jerk! If I wasn't as weak as I am now, I'd pound the shit out of you!"

"_What_ are you _talking_ about?" Sokka asked desperately, reaching for the broken plates and cups. "I'm trying to help you, for God's sake! The least you can do is be thankful."

The earthbender cried miserably, swaying a little with the effort of screaming, "Leave me alone! You don't give a damn about me! All you care about is redeeming yourself—you jerk! I hate you! I don't even know _why_ I kissed you in the first place. Don't you think I remember what you said? What you did?" The words came out forcefully and hatefully and then they didn't sound like words at all. They sounded like howls. "I _hate_ you, Sokka!" Toph shrieked, punching the wall with her fist. "I _hate_ you!"

And she was crying, which confused Sokka even further. But when he came closer to comfort her she pushed him away with the same brute force and suddenly, the ship's floor bent in a single direction, forcing Sokka to slide into her body, against the wall.

The metal made a clashing sound and Sokka broke out into a cold sweat.

"We better not be sinking," he said after a noticeable pause, forgetting the argument. Her body was light and soft against his and still smelled of used matches, of earth and ash and female. He was trying hard not to crush her, and put his hands up to either side. The fear was noticeable in Toph's eyes and it scared him in the slightest way because he knew—without a trace of hesitation—that this would end badly.

She said softly, wiping her cheek with her ashen fingers, "We're not." He heard her sniffle into his chest and then turn so that her back was facing him. The metallic slabs of steel bent back into position and the ship seemed level again. Toph feel wordlessly into the cot with a detached moan of effort.

He watched her fall—gracefully, almost—on the mattress she had claimed smelled like rotten meat. It took a second for the vision to process. For the turn of events to actually come together and take a shape and form.

But it was too obvious.

"No," Sokka stated, more to himself. "No—Toph—no!" He grabbed her shoulders. "_Please_ tell me you didn't just metalbend! Toph! Toph—wake up!" He began shaking her. Toph's useless eyes were half open and so was her paled mouth, crafted to look like a perfect circle, a mocking smile. "Toph! You know you're not supposed to! Toph—you can't…you can't do this to me. Please!" And then he said, without realizing that the same thing had been said to his sister four years ago, "You don't have to do this…you don't have to leave me, Toph."

But she didn't respond to him. The images of him making love to her helpless body vanished when he realized that she was unconscious. Her pulse was slow and milky and he could barely hear it through her skin. But it was there. It couldn't have been more perfect timing, he thought, when he felt the ship come to a hefty halt, and recognized the dialect of Southern Water Tribe men yelling directions at the ship's nonchalant crew.

She was supposed to take a vitamin, Sokka mused. How useless!

"This is great," he admitted to the lifeless figure. "Katara's going to think I've killed you."

Toph didn't answer because she couldn't hear him and even if she could, he felt she no longer cared.

When he took her into his arms and held her, cradle style, over the stairs and through the narrow hallways of the boat, he could hear her mumble something indecipherable.

It was an unmentionable feeling of guilt and stupidity. Sokka knew his line of mistakes. He also knew that Toph had said something about Suki earlier, but he could barely remember it.

For reasons that remained a mystery to him, as he carried his invalid over the dunes of his childhood, he felt as if something near to his heart—a small, throbbing vein of life—awaited him, held nobly on the side of his youngest sister.


	7. Kya Lynn and Sokka

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary: "**Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note**: This chapter is really, really long and (actually) I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

But, ah! It was extremely fun to write! It really made my week. I was swamped with all this other stuff that I had to do (articles, homework, more homework) but decided firmly that I had to put this up. I love this series. It needs to continue.

And I'm going to go ahead and be a bad egg and say that I may have/might have/probably lied. The way things are turning out, this could possibly have more than just ten chapters. It actually might go beyond that. But we'll see. All things show with time.

Hope all of my readers enjoy things like chocolate cake.

_-scorpiored112_

* * *

.7.

Seeing Sokka's tall, lanky form trudging over their native tundra brought unexpected tears to her eyes. Somehow—although he had made it clear in the letter that he was coming back—his actual arrival carried a fresh, charming feel to it. She cried because she could no longer remember their grudge. And as she ran to him she made note of his obvious changes, but also of the sick girl lying, pale and asleep, in his arms.

Katara wasn't exactly what could be called "physically fit" anymore. Although she was thin and healthy, she wasn't very active. Running to her brother took effort, but it was a labor that she found interesting. It was as if time was stopping and melting around them. She didn't even notice that Kya Lynn had let go of her hand. All she could focus on was her brother's square jaw and piercing, icy eyes.

And when she did reach him, her voice failed her and all she could do was cry into his shoulder as two experienced healers took Toph away. Sokka held his younger sister and looked distractedly about the village, his gaze resting on Katara's smooth, perfect hair—her wonderfully tanned skin—her trembling body that held so much innocence and so much guilt.

Sokka was a manly man who liked to act distinctly manly. But he couldn't help it. When he heard Katara sobbing, he held her and they both cried and laughed into each other: laughing because their fight now seemed so stupid, crying because they had never officially cried for their father or for Gran Gran—for the parents and grandparent who had left them so suddenly, leaving them to fend for themselves in such a cold, desperate world.

All the warrior could think to say into his sister's hair was simply, "It's so good to be home." His voice rippled like a wave. It was soft and remorseful and full.

His sister, however, still couldn't speak.

She continued to cry and began kissing his face. She held him at arm's length and looked at him—observed every inch of his appearance and body, every aspect of his well-kept hair and rough, short beard—much like a mother would do. Oddly enough she was inexplicably happy to see him and yet unusually frustrated at the same time.

She replied to him awkwardly, "Sokka—you'll need to shave." And when he cocked his head sideways they both began laughing again.

There would be no proper term to describe the atmosphere of this. Neither sibling felt complete yet neither felt empty. And as they held each other, most of the village watched and pointed. The two greatest siblings of the planet had been reunited after four long years of hardship and confusion. Sokka, the very same boy who had watched over their faltering tribe years ago and Katara, the most experienced waterbender and healer in the whole southern hemisphere of the planet.

Their meeting was simply perfect. Sokka still loved his sister and only now did Katara realize how much she had missed this foolish mess of a boy. After three minutes of exclamations and questions and kissing and hugging, Kya Lynn, breathing heavily, trudged over the snow to her mother and pulled on her coat.

"Mama," the girl accused, trying to steady herself. "You let go of my hand!"

Katara dismissively turned around, suddenly remembering that she had a daughter, and turned to Sokka again. Her eyes lit up.

"Oh!" she shouted crossly. "Lynnie! I completely forgot. Come here, darling. This is Uncle Sokka. Remember—you told me you missed him. Here he is! Come on, Lynnie; say hello."

"Katara," Sokka whispered, bending down to pick the girl up, "she's beautiful."

Kya Lynn looked at the tall stranger shyly and then ran behind Katara's leg. When Sokka reached for her again she recessed even further behind her mother and made a whimpering noise.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Sokka laughed, glancing at his sister amusedly. "I promise."

"Lynnie, I'm surprised at you!" the waterbender hissed. "Come on, now. You told me you missed him. He wants to say hi to you. Get out of there." Katara twisted her body to get a better view of the girl, but she was quick and short and got away rather quickly. Sokka's attempts were futile and he gave up when the girl ran to the village square, refusing to look back or listen to her mother screaming for her to return.

Katara sighed desperately, touching her forehead, "I don't know what's gotten in to her."

"She looks just like Aang," Sokka stated slowly, standing up. He made a face. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing." Katara turned around, her back facing him, and watched as Lynnie ran up to Pakku and pointed brashly behind her.

"I don't mind the whole Lynnie thing, Katara," her brother whispered to the back of her head. "She doesn't know me—naturally, she'll run away. It's no big deal. At the North Pole, kids used to think I was some sort of freak. They ran away from me all the time."

Katara giggled at this.

The warrior shrugged and placed an arm around his sister's shoulder. "So it's okay. Don't get upset over it."

Katara's gaze remained on the ground as he hugged her closely again. She suddenly felt weak and nervous, almost like fainting. Kya Lynn was still a bastard child and her bad behavior broke Katara's heart. Just a day ago Lynnie was ranting about meeting Sokka again. Today it was as if she had seen a ghost.

And—if this was _already_ the case—how would Katara tell her brother of the reincarnate? Of the same soul that he had almost married?

"You're right," the girl confirmed, burying these thoughts. "She does look just like Aang."

"I guess kids usually take after their father." Sokka rolled his shoulders back and smiled sadly, as if in reverie. "You must have loved him."

She answered immediately, "Yes."

"I'm so sorry."

"I've really missed you, Sokka," the healer said into his coat for the third time, hugging him. "I…I guess I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for everything. If…if you'll believe it…actually…these past four years…" She trailed off and covered her mouth, as if about to vomit. She looked up at him and noticed that his eyes were distracted, overlooking the crowd of people watching them, sewn distinctly to the horizon.

"It'll be alright," the warrior said. He looked down at her and grimaced. "If anyone should be sorry," he confessed, "it's me. You know as well as I do that this is all my fault."

Katara turned her head at an angle and didn't bother answering.

"But," the boy continued, "it's about time we put this stupid grudge behind us." He let his sister go and took a few steps into the village, his back straight. Katara watched him and realized that something inside of her brother had changed. He was no longer broken. Something—some form, some life—had given him hope again. And the distraction was simply that.

It was Toph.

"She's probably in the healing lodge next to my igloo," his sister exclaimed suddenly and without forethought, grasping his hands. "I'll take you. She should be fine."

As she walked, Katara wiped the tears from her face. In all the excitement she couldn't help but realize that she had finally cried. These were her first tears in forty-eight long months. And the happiness of it all—the passion, the confusion, the awkwardness—forced her to smile as she led her brother into the village square.

People greeted them. Pakku embraced Sokka warmly and told Katara that Lynnie had run off to some other location after noticing that Sokka was coming close to her again. Katara grunted in disapproval and this made Sokka laugh despite their frantic situation. He noticed, dimly, that he had missed this. He had missed so much.

They made their way to the healing lodge, walking along in silence, when a fellow healer seemed to come out of nowhere. She took Katara's arm and stated miserably, and rather abruptly, "Thank God—we thought you went off to the cargo ships."

"What is it?"

The woman, some three years older than Katara, shouted blindly, "That anemic girl is dying. We need you in there now."

"What?" Katara had already began lifting her sleeves.

"You heard me—hurry up. Leave your brother outside. There's no room."

Katara looked back at the warrior with a distinct curiosity. "But—"

"I'll be okay," Sokka said, grinning a little. "Toph needs you."

Katara nodded quickly, closing her mouth, and took a deep breath before she disappeared into the lodge.

Sokka, meanwhile, remained outside and tried to think of happy things.

But the process—the actual thought of thinking of happy thoughts—made him sick. He decided instead to do something useful and find his niece.

Their native tundra had grown up so much in the years he had been away. The South Pole now held the title of a city instead of a village—things were big and brash and wonderful. Smells erupted from every corner and every nook. Sokka tried to remember where the healing lodge was so that he could come back to it. He began walking around with his hands in his pockets.

A new addition that he took a great interest in was the large zebra-seal ice sculpture in the middle of the town square. It was crafted beautifully and he wasn't surprised to find a tablet with the claim, "_Zebra-Seal with Zeal: An original, by our Sister Tribe's best—Master Pakku._"

Sokka smiled at the various other sculptures and made a mental note to thank Pakku for breathing some life into the place. The whole ordeal also made him a little sad because he remembered that his father had often hunted zebra-seals in his younger days. Sometimes he had taken Sokka and showed him how to properly aim a spear. The memory was both bitter and endearing and Sokka tried, in vain, to concentrate on finding Lynnie.

So he walked more and more.

He greeted people he did not know.

The canvas of the tundra opened up to him and swallowed him like a pool of water swallows a pebble—wholly, completely, without debris.

And as he walked, he thought. Mostly he contemplated the delicate subject that was known more commonly as Toph.

He couldn't help but wonder, still, why she had taken the dive—why had she bent the metal?

How was that even _possible_?

When Toph had fainted in the cargo ship, Sokka felt everything within him boil away. He was confused and angry and felt unbelievably hurt. If Toph was to die—as he prayed—as he hoped—she wouldn't, another woman would have left him to the Spirit World. That would make a total of three. And this admittance made his heart ache.

He reached the outskirts of the village: an abandoned ice cliff that had a poorly made sign next to it. _Black Crane's Rock_, it said, and then underneath, _Steep and Jagged. Watch your step._

He looked over, pushing his neck forward, and listened as the waves crashed into the rocks and ice beneath him. This is what he had missed most of all. In the North Pole, there was no such thing as an "outskirt." Every inch of land was cultivated and bended to a proper shape, a proper creation.

Border patrol watched out for the very same teenagers that Sokka trained in the day time. His swordsmen, mere sixteen-year-olds, often complained of their country's tight security. They longed to swordfight on the outskirts—over the cliffs and below the waves. This was restricted to them and now Sokka felt a rush of freedom and happiness.

He held his hands out in front of him and stretched them out. The brief thought of jumping over crossed his mind, but it passed by quickly. Sokka was too in love with life to give up on it. He was too in love with the girl that refused to love him and too in love with the sister he had almost forgotten. He felt too full now to drop himself over Black Crane's Rock. And besides…

He could almost feel a light presence with him, following his every step, his every thought.

Sokka turned his face and put his hands at his sides.

But when he actually looked, no one was there, and so he went back to searching for Kya Lynn, suddenly reminded of Suki and Yue and Toph. They were like secret spirits inside of him, these past lovers. Small pebbles that fell into him on impact and refused to come out.

He suddenly stopped walking, dead in his tracks, looking down at the snow. "Damn," he muttered.

The things that caught his attention were tiny, rugged footprints that had been embedded softly in the snow. He made a face at the ground and bit his lip.

He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed. His niece had probably been following him this whole time.

"Lynnie?" Sokka cried out, cupping his mouth. "Kya Lynn!"

Looking around him frantically, he wondered if the girl had gotten as close to the cliff as he had. This also brought back memories. He had always been a model big brother to Katara—now he had to be a model uncle too. The thought of that previous responsibility was sickening, but Sokka kept calling out.

"Lynnie! Come out here!" he stated defiantly, crossing his arms. With his eyes, he traced the tiny footprints to an area behind a jagged boulder, where Kya Lynn's two long braids obviously showed: a perfect contradiction to the white snow and ice.

He stated gently, taking a few steps forward, "I can see you back there."

The girl hesitated.

Sokka laughed, getting down on his knees, "I'm not going to hurt you, Lynnie. You're my sister's daughter, for God's sake. Come on now. Let me have a look at you."

Defeated and a little embarrassed, his niece appeared from behind the rock and glared briefly at him, as if in question. She took a deep breath, placed her hands behind her back, and strolled over. Her eyes were large and deep and when she spoke her mouth made the same movements that Katara's mouth made—quick and jerky, always worrying, always alive.

"See? You aren't afraid of me, are you?"

"No," Kya Lynn replied, clenching her fists and looking up. "I'm not afraid of anything, Mister Sokka."

Sokka blinked stupidly and stood up. "Well," he sighed, scratching his chin. "You should call me Uncle Sokka, Lynnie. I'm your uncle, you know."

"You _should_ call me Kya," the girl retorted. "Only you probably won't, since it was your mother's name. Mama probably won't let you. She has that same trouble."

The man lifted his brows upward quizzically.

"And if you _are _my uncle," she pressed, "how come I've never seen you before?"

Her tone of voice, as well as her build, resembled Katara remarkably. Although Lynnie's hair, eyes, and skin seemed to be an exact copy of the Avatar, she was still Katara's spitting image in actions. She spoke the same way and carried herself in the same fashion, which was both frightening and darling, the way Sokka saw it.

He didn't know what to add so he merely listened as the girl continued.

"I mean," Kya Lynn finished, playing with the hem of her coat, "how do I know you aren't some creepy stranger? Mama says I shouldn't talk to strangers. And she shouldn't either—so why is she talking to you? Besides, Gran Gran said that Sokka was a little boy who played with fishhooks all the time." She looked at him—sizing him up. "You're not a little boy. You're a man. And you have a sword. You're probably going to hurt someone."

Sokka frowned deeply and, doing the only thing he thought would help, took out the sword that dangled at his side. The metal was shiny and clear, crafted of a certain form of crystal. He held it in his open palms and showed it to his niece. "I used to have a black one," he said, amused by her interest in the weapon. "But I lost it. I'm not going to hurt anyone with this, Lynnie. I promise."

She crossed her arms, not believing this, and tore her eyes away from him. "Who was that you brought with you?"

"The girl?"

"Yes. The girl—only she was more of a woman." Kya Lynn breathed in and decided to sit down on a nearby rock, which led Sokka to do the same thing. "You were carrying her like a baby," the girl continued. "And then they called Mama inside the healing lodge. Who was that?"

Sokka, a little surprised at the child's insight, crossed his legs and took out a cigar. "Her name is Toph," he said flatly. "She's a close friend of mine."

"Is she going to die?"

"I hope not," her uncle answered loudly. "She's still young. She's only twenty-two."

Lynnie asked him, fascinated by the way he lit his cigar, "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-six," her uncle answered, throwing the used match behind him. "I'll be twenty-seven soon."

She murmured sadly, "That's so old," and grinned when Sokka laughed and touched her shoulder.

"It's not that bad. Our Gran Gran was a good eighty years old when she died. So I think I have some time."

"I'm four," the child exclaimed, bothered by the mention of her great grandmother. "I'm younger than you by…twenty-two years."

Sokka raised a brow. "You do math, too?" he asked, a little shocked. "Who taught you that?"

"It isn't hard," Lynnie explained, undoing one of her braids. "That's just subtraction. Pakku says when my waterbending starts to show, he's going to teach me that too. It's more useful than math."

"I don't know about that."

Lynnie pulled her knees to her chest. "I'd really like to be a bender," she admitted, as if speaking to her mother. "I don't care what kind. Any kind. It's not fun to be plain."

"Don't I know it." Sokka took a drag of his cigar and spit the smoke out slowly, contemplating. He touched his niece's shoulder again and kept his hand there, prompting her to look up. "If it turns out that you aren't a bender," he started, "then I can teach you about swords. It's just as good as bending."

Lynnie's complexion reddened. "Really?" she asked in wonder. "You'd really teach me that?"

"Of course!" her uncle chortled. "Why not? You are my niece, aren't you?"

She whispered after a slight pause, "I guess I am."

"So I'm not a stranger anymore. We're friends now."

Kya Lynn shrugged and undid her other braid. "I don't think so," she answered, holding the bindings in her hands. "You may be my uncle, but you're still a stranger. I don't know you yet. You might be a jerk." She paused slightly, wondering if he had caught on to what her mother called "repulsive manners for a young lady." Katara had often scolded Lynnie to avoid using words like that—jerk, stupid, idiot, or jackass. But sometimes they came out, as Lynnie was particularly expressive. For some reason, she felt as though Sokka wouldn't mind.

Much to Lynnie's pleasure, the man said conclusively, "I might be," and then added, "Maybe I am. I don't know. I guess I'm still a stranger to you." He looked down at his sister's daughter, oddly captivated by her skin and hair—the perfect composure that Katara had given birth to. Had he not been so impulsive years ago, he could have seen her grow up. He could have watched the day Pakku taught her subtraction. He could have shown her the fishhook scar while Gran Gran told her the story.

"I gave that Toph lady my bison," Kya Lynn said when she noticed her uncle staring at her.

"What bison?"

"My doll," the girl murmured. "My bison doll. His name is Appa." She leaned in, as if telling a secret. "He can talk," she said quietly. "He's a total chatterbox."

Sokka smirked a little. "What does he say?" he asked.

"Lots of stuff," Lynnie answered, as if Sokka should have known this. "He's never quiet. But I gave him to Toph. It was before Koko kicked me out. She said there wasn't enough room for more people in there. Then I followed you to make sure you didn't kill anyone with your sword. But I'm worried about my bison now." Kya Lynn sighed deeply, "If that Toph lady dies, my bison might die with her. And then Baba will die, like Gran Gran."

The child seemed preoccupied with these thoughts. But they bothered Sokka to unmentionable levels and so, without thinking, he turned his niece so that she faced him and looked at her, horrified by her admittance of death and the darker quality that her eyes now possessed.

"No one is going to die!" he said obnoxiously. "God—Lynnie, who told you that? Katara did, didn't she?" He slapped a hand to his forehead and put his sword away, suddenly angered. "That is such a horrible thing to think!" he shouted crossly. "No one is going to die."

Kya Lynn was silent.

Sokka stood up. "Don't think like that," he ordered. "Don't ever, _ever_ think like that."

He looked over Black Crane's Rock and offered his hand to the child sitting next to him, suddenly quiet and contemplative. He planned to go back to the village. Sitting here with Kya Lynn had been fairly enjoyable, but her mention of death was out of place and reminded him of Toph. Older South Pole myths said that children sensed changes in the Spirit World, and often voiced them to whoever would listen.

Lynnie took his hand, noticing how large and rough it was, before crying out, "Uncle Sokka—I can go back to the village by myself."

"I'd rather go with you," he said instantly, tightening his grip against her struggle. "It's safer this way."

"But your hand is so big!" she said in distress, trying again to pull her own hand away. "You might crush me."

He looked down at the girl with a lopsided frown, wondering how Katara could stand the constant questions and answers and outbursts. Kya Lynn was a talkative hassle, much like her father.

"I told you—I'm your uncle. I'm not going to—"

But Lynnie wiggled free and began running down the ice path leading to the village square. Sokka looked at their ledge miserably. He picked up the two hair bands that had held Kya's braids and put them in his pocket. Even if she wasn't used to him just yet, he wished she would have let him hold her hands. They were so soft and small and perfect. Airbending fingers, Sokka thought, and then prayed that his niece would be able to bend soon, so that she would never feel the plainness he often felt.

When he walked back into the village, he was again filled with a new hope. He hadn't known it a few days ago, but now he had a niece, who loved him—somewhat—and liked swords—or seemed too—and also had a talking bison—who was a complete chatterbox. The thought made Sokka laugh. Nothing could go wrong now. Everything was turning out perfectly.

Yet it was this that disturbed him the most. How is it that—when we are most happy in life—the world shakes and shatters and drops us off, like old, orange leaves in winter? How is it that the greenish hue of optimism comes so slightly and is killed so suddenly—a mere paper blossom, trying hard to bloom in the odds of toothed rocks and pessimists?

His spirits died completely when he reached the village to find the healers in a loud and frightening uproar.


	8. Toph and Katara

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary: "**Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note**:

I begin with a huge thanks to all of my faithful reviewers. Some of you have stopped reviewing (you've abandoned me, which breaks my fragile heart!) Hopefully I'll hear from you in this chapter. All of your comments—or most of them, I guess, in certain cases—make me smile. It's so good to know that you're following the story and that you're liking it. Makes me feel fuzzy inside. And encourages me to update!

So thank you, thank you, thank you.

I know that after reading this chapter and seeing how it ends, you're all going to want to kill me. But I promise you that I will update as soon as I can. Aang is coming soon, I swear it.

Happy reading,

_-scorpiored112_

* * *

.8.

Healers were a special type of person. They were passionate. And, on many occasions, dramatic and furious and upset with the world. Many of the healers in the Southern Water Tribe were older women, usually over the age of thirty. Katara was a special case in that sense. Only twenty-four and already at the top.

In fact, the only healer above her level was a woman named Koko, who was about twenty-seven years old. The relationship between the two great healers was commonly misunderstood, and a little dark to begin with.

Koko disliked Katara's bragging and Katara disliked Koko's quiet, suspicious nature. Out of the two, Koko was respected more for her age, but Katara could get the job done quicker and more efficiently. Both of them, in this instance, were fighting over who was going to save Toph's life.

When Katara entered the healing lodge after parting with her brother, she took immediate notice of two things. One: way too many healers. The Tribe only held about fifteen of them and they were _all_ in there. It was both unnecessary and rather ridiculous.

Two: Koko was calling the shots. Which Katara didn't like. Ever.

So the first thing Katara consciously did was shove Koko out of the way—gently, or somewhat—and pull a string of water out from the spirit water basin. She placed her hands over Toph's shoulders and felt the diminishing levels of energy flicker out. It scared her, and when Katara looked up, she couldn't help but make a face.

"What is it?" Koko asked obnoxiously. "I told you—she's dying. That's why I went out of my way to pull you in here."

Katara asked, just as bitterly, "What were you doing this whole time?"  
"Trying to keep her alive."

"Doesn't look like it," the younger woman retorted. "She's dying, for God's sake!" And then Katara unconsciously flipped around and screamed at all of the healers to leave the lodge immediately.

Many of them left without arguing because they weren't doing anything to begin with—not to mention that they all had a certain liking for Katara. But Koko held firm and refused to move.

"What on God's earth do you think you're doing?" Koko screeched in disgust as Katara physically pushed her out. "You need me in here! Do you think you can handle this yourself?"

"Yes."

"You aren't nearly as experienced as I am!"

"If you were half the healer you think you are," Katara spat furiously, "than you would have done everything you could before her heart started giving out! You wouldn't have ran around for help!"

"How dare you!"

Katara's hands angrily shoved Koko out of the lodge. Then she slammed the door shut and began crying. Toph was vanishing and there was so little she could do now.

No one knew how much her brother needed Toph except for her.

Koko and the others couldn't possibly grasp this. Toph was more than an Earth Kingdom citizen—more than some unfortunate patient. She was her brother's last chance at happiness.

She was Katara's little sister—just like old times—before the war. Before the love-making and lying and truth and blood and murders. Before the drama of sisterhood actually stepped in the picture.

Katara could distinctly hear Koko firing up the other healers outside, and she worried more when Sokka's voice bellowed over the crowd, "What's going on?" But she knew she had a job to do, and ignored everything. When Toph woke up, Katara wanted the lodge to be perfect. Everything had to be controlled.

There is a certain "air" about healing that becomes extremely personal. Only the greatest healers are able to do this. When someone is dying and you actually feel for them—you actually want them to live—you actually love them—then your own energy levels are placed aside. You do not care whether you "can" do this, but more so "how" you are going to do it. Katara placed her hands on Toph's forehead and focused her energies on the girl's organs, which were starting to slow down. Their metabolic processes needed help and it was easy to tell that Toph was going to need major healing sessions after this.

Something about being in the room alone with the earthbender also helped Katara realize something else: Toph had grown up. She was taller—although thinner—and more beautiful—although paler—than when she had last seen her four years ago.

As healers argued outside, Katara tried to focus on the healing session. It was going to be short and precise and intense. That is how Katara worked. That is what she found most effective.

In that time, Katara was exposed to a whole new range of emotions and sensations that had died along with her grandmother nearly a week ago. She loved Toph. She had missed her. And now Toph was dying, and Katara was going to save her, and things were looking bright for once, and maybe—

Maybe this would be her form of redemption.

So she worked and worked.

She placed various amounts of water over Toph's bare stomach, which was where the ultimate energy center existed. Slowly but surely, Katara could feel the movement. She saw Toph's fingers twitch slightly and then fall back on the mattress. Half way through the session, she caught the eyes of Kya Lynn's doll, placed by Toph's side, and stared at it.

And, strangely enough, Katara admitted to the little bison with a small smile—because she needed someone—anyone—to hear this, "She's going to live, Appa."

The bison replied with a noble, appreciative silence.

Katara became unmentionable happy when, after the span of ten minutes, the earthbender's energy levels began to stir underneath her skin again. When the glow from Katara's hands disappeared into Toph's body. When her heart gurgled to life and when her hand twitched enough to actually move up and touch her own forehead. When Toph moaned softly, almost like a child.

This is where we see the other "air" about healing. People do not gradually become conscious. They just wake up, as if abruptly interrupted during a trance.

"Thank God!" Katara started repeating—no longer to the bison, but to herself. "I knew it. I knew you wouldn't die on me, Toph. I swear I knew it!" And unconsciously, Katara hugged her, and then remembered her weak state, and their previous argument, and jumped back.

Toph placed her hand on the nearest wall and, realizing it was made of wood, frowned and turned to the healer's voice.

Her own voice cracked. It sounded old and saddened. She whined timidly, as if unsure, "Katara?"

"Yes."

"It's you?"

"Yes, dear," Katara prodded, grabbing Toph's pale hands. "it's me."

The lodge fell into a silence for a moment. Toph was surprised to find how much Katara's voice had changed in the four years she had been away. It was harder—empty, almost. And it was strange because Toph had always thought of her friend to be a passionate, distressed girl, whose voice was always full of life and energy and franticness.

"What happened?" Toph replied evenly. She tried in vain to sit up, but her back jolted and she stayed put, yelping out slightly in shock.

Katara ordered loudly, holding Toph's shoulder's down, "Don't move!" She fumbled uneasily with the blankets. "You need to relax. At least for another day or so." She paused, suddenly guilty with herself, and frowned regretfully. "I had no idea you were this anemic," the healer admitted, more to herself.

"Me neither," Toph answered. "I've only fainted once before, at my parents' house, after the whole…" She stopped mid-sentence and decided not to finish. Katara noticed amusedly that her voice had finally become more feminine. Toph was, at last, a young lady at the ripe age of twenty-two years.

"It looks as if you haven't been to any healers," Katara started, rubbing her arm and avoiding talk of their previous argument. "I mean, it's so, _so_ good to see you"—Toph smiled here—"but I honestly wanted to see you in better health."

"That's good to know," her companion replied timidly.

Katara murmured, "But I don't understand it. Your anemia has been going on for a while, apparently."

Toph shrugged. Her shoulders looked delicate and breakable. "My parents don't believe in healers. They didn't bring them in."

"Why not?"

"Well," the earthbender admitted, "I actually told them I didn't want to see any."

"Why?" Katara repeated. "We do a lot more good than those damned doctors do." She laughed bitterly and gestured in an agitated way with her hands. "Let me guess! They've got you on iron pills and vitamins, don't they? How useless!"

Toph was silent, and suddenly Katara regretted being so cynical at their first meeting. Toph's whole manner took on a reflective quality and she stared ahead of her.

Then the earthbender turned her face and confessed quietly, "To be honest, I was afraid of running into you again."

There were many ways that Katara could have taken this.

What she didn't see was Toph's own embarrassment at admitting it—spurning it out into the open with so little effort.

So mostly, Katara took the whole thing offensively. Her eyes widened a little in surprise and, suddenly aggravated, she crossed her arms and whispered crossly, "I just told you that I'm happy to see you again."

"I know that," Toph blurted, spilling out excuses. "I don't mean it like that, Katara—I swear to God I don't. I'm just saying that…I mean—"

She cut herself off again and felt around for the nearest object, which was typically what Toph did when she needed something for her fingers to chew on. Kya Lynn's bison happened to be the wringing toy of choice in this case and so she grasped the doll firmly and held it in her lap.

"What _do_ you mean?" Katara asked, unintentionally sounding hurt.

She watched as Toph squeezed the bison, thinking. Contemplating. She watched her wedge her lower lip between her teeth. She heard the lodge fall silent and give way to the noises outside.

"What do I mean?" the patient began slowly. "You know you're one of the greatest healers in the world. You know that my parents would have brought you in."

Katara was oblivious. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Ha!" Toph squeezed the bison a little more. "After all the words between us?" Her tone grew submissive when she continued, still thinking this over. She was not one for impulsiveness and didn't want anything to come out the wrong way. "After everything you said to me? And what I did to you…to you and Aang…and now…" Her hands stopped. "Your daughter…"

Time stood still for the second time that day when Katara saw Toph's useless eyes drip water—the way the tears fell from her eyelids and slid down her pale, waxy cheek.

Time stopped and the lodge stopped and Katara stopped and thought—honestly thought and thought—about what had happened those four years ago. She had never blamed Toph. She had blamed herself. But thinking about it now, and seeing Toph cry in front of her, suddenly sharpened the manner.

If Toph had kept her mouth shut after the murders, everything would have turned out for the better. Sokka wouldn't have known. He didn't have to know, Katara thought now, about what she and Aang had done.

And her daughter!

For some reason, when Toph had said this tiny word—this insignificant phrase—Katara's chest tightened and her hand pressed into a fist. Kya Lynn could have grown up with her father around her, hugging her and kissing her and showing her his real bison instead of this little fake one.

Toph wiped her cheek and refused to talk for fear of her voice cracking again.

Katara saw her feel the buttons over Lynnie's doll. Those were supposed to be his eyes. Useless button eyes that were dark and blind. Toph's fingers looked remarkably white and fragile.

"Does she ask about her father often?" Toph asked suddenly, clearing her throat and trying hard to steady herself.

"No," Katara confessed. "She's never asked about him—until Gran Gran died. I don't know what brought it up."

"What is her name again?"

"Kya Lynn," the healer stated monotonously. "It's plain. We just call her Lynnie."

"She must hate it."

"I know."

Toph lifted the furry doll from her lap and held it close to her face, feeling the rough leather stitches that expertly held the thing together.

"Is this supposed to be Appa?"

"Yes."

"You did a good job of it."

"Gran Gran made it," Katara muttered. Inside she wondered who should take the blame for the fight four years ago. She was not listening to Toph talk. She had somewhat forgotten Toph altogether, and the noises outside were dismissed in the same manner. Katara spoke without thinking. "I told her not to make one but she did. Lynnie takes it everywhere and talks to it. I don't know if it's a boy or a girl—it always changes. She even told me that Appa was a pretty name for a girl."

Toph paused uneasily. "Did she give it to me?"

"Yes."

The cot creaked with Toph's weight as she turned her body towards the wall. Her back jolted again but she didn't pay attention to it. Her head was killing her. The atmosphere was killing her. The lodge was too warm and too tribal and smelled of cedar bark. And Katara was thinking.

Katara was honestly thinking.

And Toph didn't like that. Ever.

It always led to bad decisions and poor mistakes and Toph knew, before Katara said anything, that she needed an apology. She felt horrible. Things were coming together too fast and Toph was too weak to deal with it all.

"You just saved my life," the earthbender said to the wall. "You didn't have to, but you did."

"I know."

"You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," Katara said, touching her own forehead. "No one deserves to die. Especially when people love them." She looked at the bison that Toph still held tightly in her hands. "Even my daughter has started loving you," she said, and smiled a little, but didn't know why.

"Thank you," Toph stated fluidly. "Thanks so much, Katara."

"It's okay."

"I hope you know that I'm sorry."

Katara didn't answer. She waited and stiffened her back, as if possessed.

"It wasn't right—nothing was right," Toph muttered. The mere act of speaking was taking a toll on her, but she didn't care. She needed this. This was redemption.

"It's okay," Katara repeated.

"No," Toph said, blinking furiously, "no, it's not okay. I shouldn't have listened to you two in the dressing room. I shouldn't have told Sokka."

"Toph—"

"It was none of my business to begin with." She found the strength to sit up and pull her legs to her chest. The bison sat between her lap and her stomach, listening. "I'm such an idiot. Sokka never loved me. He still doesn't. What would he want with me, anyway? Some freakish blind girl?"

Katara crossed her arms nervously. Toph began to gesture with her hands. They both wondered where the energy was coming from.

"I thought—guess what I thought, Katara, because you're going to laugh—I thought that by some crazy turn of events, by telling him what he wanted to know, he would love me back! And I thought—by listening to you and Twinkle Toes in the dressing room—I would learn something. But I've learned _nothing._ These past four years have killed me."

"Toph, you really don't have—"

"Nothing's happened. When I listened to you guys I felt gross and when I told Sokka I felt worse. And then I heard you and Aang leaving each other and it killed me. And then Sokka gave me more shit about how _I_ killed Suki. That's why I'm sorry, Katara." Her voice was dying out. Toph's knees gave way and she fell back on the cot soundlessly.

"Toph, you really should—"

Toph exclaimed softly, "I'm sorry. That's why it's not okay. I've told you—I've learned nothing."

Katara placed her hand on Toph's forehead and held it there, noticing the rise in temperature. "It'll be okay," the healer promised lamely. "That's all behind us now."

"You just saved my life," the earthbender finished. "You didn't have to. You could have let me die."

Katara observed her desolately. "I forgive you," the healer answered, as if Toph should have known this.

"But—"

"I accepted your apology even before you said all of this," Katara continued. "I don't think I ever hated you, dear. You've always been like a little sister to me."

Toph bit her lip miserably.

"I would never let you die," the woman stated regardless. "Don't ever, _ever_ think that."

"…Okay."

"I forgive you."

Toph didn't answer, once again for fear of her voice cracking.

"It was all a big mistake," Katara finally added loudly. Her eyes scanned the shut window. "Everyone makes mistakes. It's not like we're perfect—you know that."

"Yes."

The lodge was tossed into another silence. Energies flowed throughout Toph's body in waves. For some reason, both of them felt renewed. The lodge felt fresh and clean—and the air—the cold, bitter, South Pole air—had a promising quality to it now. It moved inside the room and spread itself over the walls, drifted between them like a whisper.

Toph concluded, as she felt her eyes closing, begging for sleep, "You know," she started smoothly, "I don't know why, but I feel so much better."

Katara wiped her face with the back of her hand. "I know what you mean."

"And you know something else?"

Katara stood, noticing that Toph was getting ready to rest and that her presence there was a disturbance. "What's that?"

The girl admitted, lying on her back, "I don't think I ever hated you, either, Katara."

"That's certainly good to know," the healer laughed.

"I mean," the earthbender continued, "you just…_saved_ me."

The waterbender shrugged and smiled, her hand on the door. She said without faltering, "Healer's are a special type of person," and turned to go, before Toph interrupted her again.

"Katara?"

"I'm still here."

"Aang is coming soon."

"I know," the waterbender stated. "Very soon."

Toph was smirking, and Katara almost wanted to laugh at it: it was so perfectly placed. Just seeing Toph trying to tease her made their situation worth while. The earthbender inquired silkily, "Are you looking forward to it?"

There was an uncomfortable pause where Katara shifted her weight. She replied after some thought, "I think it will be difficult."

"He loves you," Toph said immediately. "He always did."

"I know."

"Do you love him?"

"It will be difficult," Katara returned quickly, in order to close the conversation. "I think you should get some sleep."

Toph pulled the animal furs to her chin and held the bison doll close. She nuzzled against he warmth of her pillow and took in the aroma of the lodge. So tribal—too tribal, in fact—but balmy. Harmless. For once in a very long time, her world was beginning to feel comfortable again. The universe was coming together in pieces. Things were falling in place all at once.

She listened as Katara gently closed the door behind her and drifted off into a deep, unconscious sleep.


	9. Aang and Contemplation

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary: "**Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note**: I freaking love Aang. I am such a huge Aang fan that it is ridiculous. I'm pretty sure that if he were real, I would kidnap him and keep him in my closet. Or under my bed. So I know that I treat him poorly in this chapter, but it's for the general good of the story.

(Um, yay! Reference to chapter one—go back and read the first line!)

I was never really one for Maiko but I guess it's sprinkled in here in a cutesy little way. I'm also not one for OC's but they're useful. Keep an eye out for the symbolic reference of Aang "contaminating the ocean."

And I PROMISE you that the next chapter will be up quickly. I know you will be anxious to read it. I also know that I'm honestly looking forward to writing it! Love scene, anyone?!

_-scorpiored112_

* * *

.9.

He was not a man of habit, let alone of happiness.

And this whole turn of events was slowly destroying him inside. Aang couldn't deny it anymore—he was not a fighter, and he was sick of fighting. He was not a father—but there was a child calling him Baba in the South Pole. He hadn't been a lover for four years—and seeing Katara again…

Seeing Katara again was like setting eyes on the sun and then drowning in the ocean, blinded and winded and shocked—utterly paralyzed from the shoulders down. Aang couldn't lie to himself and say that he hadn't missed it.

In all honesty, he often dreamt of kissing her again, and how she would take it.

And what she would say.

And if she would kiss him back.

And the size of her mattress in her grandmother's igloo, and if it could still fit two people the way he remembered it did once long ago, when they had done nothing but take a nap in the middle of the day. Aang remembers smelling Katara's hair while she was pretending to be asleep. Then one of her eyes had opened and she had grabbed his face and kissed him. Sokka unintentionally walked in and yelled at them for not putting a "do not disturb" sign on the flap door. All three of them were embarrassed and happy and laughing.

It was before Sokka had started to hate him—before his obsession with Katara dampened to something shameless and dark—before he had unknowingly fathered a child that Katara had raised alone, without his notice—and especially before he had realized what an idiotic coward he was for not fixing the conflicts between them earlier.

Mayor Chang and his many daughters took notice of the Avatar's jittery mood and did everything they could to find out what exactly was bothering him. But actually, every time Fa Ling or the Mayor himself asked, Aang would reply with his daydream smile and murmur, "I'll be leaving soon."

It was mostly because, inside, he was still in disbelief.

The city remained out of shape but Aang no longer cared. He had family duties to attend to, and just the notion of actually having a living, breathing family excited him and drowned him in his Katara-related happiness and his fatherhood-related fears.

He was still obsessed with Katara and found it hard to grasp the concept of returning to her again.

Why else would he have written thirty scrolls and then proudly shipped them off? Why else would he still dream about her every night—feel her breath against his cheek, her teeth against his ear—the ways she usually teased him when they were younger?

Aang wrote on an empty scroll the morning of his departure, _It is so good to be in love._ And then added, because it looked nice, a little heart with the characters for _Katara_ and _Kya Lynn_ inside. Underneath, _I'm a good father._

The way this looked on paper made him smile and so he rolled up the scroll and decided immediately that he would take it with him.

His bags were packed and he had tidied up his room. Aang stood up straight and looked at the sun rising lazily into the clouds—a swell of peace rising. He quickly pulled at his backpack and pushed the door of his room open when he was met, once again, by none other than the mayor's nosiest daughter, Fa Ling.

They both stopped for a moment as the girl blinked uneasily into his chest. Then she stared up at him, rosy-cheeked, and mumbled distinctly, "Good morning, Avatar. I see you have your things ready."

Aang smiled politely and ran a hand through the slight brush of hair that had peeked out of his head in the past couple of days. If he remembered correctly, Katara liked his hair, and that is why he had decided against shaving it.

"Yeah—I'm ready to go," Aang replied joyously. "I'm still missing that shirt I told your mother about, but I guess I'll be okay." He laughed softly to himself. "It's no big deal. Take care, Fa Ling."

The girl looked unbelievably upset when he turned to go. "We've really enjoyed having you with us," she answered slowly, looking up at him. "It's such an honor. It really is, Avatar Aang, I mean, to actually—"

Aang's laughter interrupted her. "I get it."

She returned his hasty bow and, when he had straightened himself, cleared her throat.

"I guess you'll be leaving now."

Aang nodded, grinning from ear to ear. "My daughter is waiting for me," he explained happily. And suddenly, for reasons unknown to him, he touched Fa Ling's shoulder and exclaimed, "Wait a sec—before I go—I have to show you this!"

He rummaged around in his backpack as Fa Ling waited for him. Aang produced a small, hand-crafted air bison doll. It had leather stitches and two large, pink button eyes that stared out of a tuft of even pinker hair.

"Oh," the girl whispered. "It's a lovely…uh, well—what is this, exactly?"

Aang held it up, as if witnessing a phenomenon, and turned it around in his hands. "It's a bison!" he replied cheerfully. "I made it myself—won't she love it? It's pink for a reason. Lynnie must like pink. All girls do." His facial expression hardened when Fa Ling looked up at him.

"Well—all girls _do_ like pink, don't they?" he asked desperately, examining the little bison again. "They have to—I'm sure of it. Pink is a girl color, isn't it? Just for girls—Lynnie has to love it."

Fa Ling handed him the doll and smiled tenderly. "I'm sure she will," she stated, only because that's what he wanted to hear, and because she had taken a special liking to Aang in the short weeks he had been with her family.

"And check this out," he continued, pulling out a large box of chocolates. "That's for Lynnie too—I have a bigger one for Katara already in Appa's saddle. I mean—well, I'm not really sure what _kind_ of chocolate they like. I'm pretty sure Katara liked those strawberry ones—you know what I'm talking about—right? But I got them twenty of each kind that the store had, just to be sure." He looked at the box and frowned. "I might need a bigger size," he added miserably. "Lynnie might like chocolate. What if I run out?"

"You'll be fine," Fa Ling replied dreamily, clasping her hands together. "She'll like these, too."

Aang put the box of chocolates and the doll away. He felt around the inside lining of his tunic and pulled out a small, square box. Fa Ling sighed desperately at the vision and bit her lip.

"You're going to propose!" she exclaimed, hugging him without his consent. "Oh! All of this is so _romantic_!"

Aang raised a brow as he composed himself. "They'll like everything?"

"Of course—they both will." Fa Ling sighed again and threw her weight on the wall behind her, as if all of these little explanations of love were shaking her. "Katara is so lucky," she added, and blushed and turned her face.

The small hallway outside of Aang's temporary room was silenced for a matter of seconds as he put all of his trinkets away and got his luggage ready again. Aang traveled light and the only thing he was seriously afraid of losing was the ring. Three thousand gold pieces wasn't cheap and—price aside—he knew Katara was going to adore it. She had always liked jewelry.

He gave Fa Ling a final bow and thanked her for listening to his rambling; he explained that he was nervous but not terribly, and that is why he had needed someone to talk to. He thanked her for her comments and hoped she would listen to her father even after the all-powerful Avatar left them.

She thanked Aang for being extremely handsome and romantic—she also commented that the world needed more young gentlemen with his mindset, and blushed for the third time that evening.

Before Aang left, Fa Ling gave him the shirt that he thought had gotten lost in the wash.

She admitted that she had taken it a while ago, but had finally decided stealing was wrong, and wanted to return it to him. Awkwardly—and rather confused and a little disgusted—Aang made his way to Appa and unloaded his things. He saw one of Fa Ling's hazel eyes peering out of a window. But when he blinked, she was gone.

He was going to miss being so closely observed, he thought.

Sunrise gave way to midmorning and Aang flew on his oldest companion to one of the most remote places in the world. His whole trip wouldn't take more than six to ten hours, depending on weather and breaks and other such nuisances. Both Appa and Momo weren't as active they had been four years ago, and Aang knew that he needed to be thoughtful. He considered both animals to be Southern Air Temple antiques that needed to be treated with delicacy and gracefulness.

Two hours passed as Aang looked blankly at the reddened sky above him.

He thought of Katara's letter, which he had also placed in the lining of his tunic. That, and his proposal ring—those were the two most important possessions on this expedition to the South Pole.

_She calls you Baba, you know._

_You probably think I'm lying, but I'm telling the truth this time._

Remembering this, Aang looked at the box of chocolates and the little bison he had spent days making. He frowned decisively.

Appa grunted in discomfort as Aang steered him to a nearby beach clearing on what looked to be a small Earth Kingdom island.

There, Aang bought more gifts for Kya Lynn—these included, but were not limited to: children's books, more stuffed animals, a whole collection of "Little Miss Mai" dolls that were crafted to look like the Fire Lady, a little pack of false jade beads, a set of scrolls and wooden brushes, and a small, caged, unknown species of bird.

After one hour of shopping, he decided to buy himself a cup of caffeinated tea.

"Lookin' kind of jittery today," the teahouse server commented immediately. "You wouldn't happen to be Avatar Aang, would you?"

"That's me." Aang's voice wavered slightly as he placed his hands on the counter. His face was tight. He mumbled to himself, "There has to be something else I can get—what else do girls like, for God's sake? She could have mentioned that. She barely mentioned anything." He looked up at the confused boy before him and proclaimed clearly, "She really could have told me more. I know nothing. How am I supposed to get her something suitable if I know nothing? She's always been vague like that."

The server looked at him with an open mouth. "Uh…whatever you say, Mister Avatar."

"The problem," Aang clarified, gesturing madly with his hands, "is that I don't say much to begin with. Whatever I _do_ say ends up coming out wrong and that's probably why she left me. She calls me Baba, for God's sake. How the hell am I supposed to know what girls like?" Aang took the cup from his listener and stared into it.

"Uh—well—"

"I think I'll be okay—It's all under control! There's nothing to worry about."

The boy stared, as if bewildered, and touched the back of his neck. "Mister Avatar," he began nervously, watching as Aang's hands trembled. "I wouldn't be drinkin' that stuff if I were you. It's only gonna make those jitters worse. Jitters—or girl trouble...or a hangover, if that's what this is…"

"Two boxes of chocolates is enough. And a bison. She'll like Momo, too. I think I should be fine." Aang added as an afterthought, smiling pathetically, "Yes, I should be fine. What do you think?"

"Well…" The boy held up his hands and sighed. "Just take it easy, I guess." He looked at the counter quizzically and raised a brow. "Mister Avatar, that cup of tea was three copper pieces. You just gave me a blue scroll and some little black box."

"Oh—right. Don't touch that."

Aang fixed the mistake distractedly and gave the server the right amount of change, this time paying attention to what his hands were doing. "She probably still hates me," he mumbled. "What the hell am I supposed to do when I see her? God! This is so confusing. Horrible. I blame myself." He looked up again. "I also blame you. I blame the world. But I got her a ring. She'll like it, I'm sure—though there's a chance that she won't take it. She probably won't even want it."

"…Uh."

"I'm fine! I've already told you." Aang's eyes were twitching uncontrollably. The boy stared at him as though he were some kind of drunkard. "I love her—and she hates me. So it's all under control!"

When Aang finally turned to go, some of the tea spilled out of his cup and landed on his boots. There was a stagger in his step and his face had tightened even more. He didn't seem to notice the tea.

"Mister Avatar!" the server shouted after him. "That girl you're all nervous about better be one hell of a knockout! Will you bring me back a picture?"

Aang didn't answer because he didn't hear him. His head was screaming and his skull was throbbing and only about half of the tea actually made it to his lips.

Appa was saddled with a whole load of new presents. He groaned again in discomfort, but Aang didn't answer. He took off his shirt though the air was considerably colder on the beach. His skin was burning up and when he felt his forehead, he was surprised to have his hand come back to him covered in sweat.

The priority was getting back on Appa to finish the flight, but suddenly Aang felt sick. Nothing was right about his movements—his fingers were awkward—his limbs were strangers—and even his voice was failing on him. The whole universe was fogged, and somehow he knew—without even attempting the process—that no previous Avatar could help him now.

He felt his frame shivering. He put his shirt back on but it didn't stop.

Desperate, he crawled into his winter parka, but that didn't help either.

He cursed obnoxiously under his breath. Waking up early had already slowed Appa and Momo—they were both asleep and suddenly their master envied them. The result was a distressed sigh as Aang sauntered aimlessly along the shoreline.

He watched the water.

Which brought thoughts of Katara.

Which forced his stomach to tighten into bulbous knots.

Aang couldn't take it any longer. He purged his breakfast and the caffeinated tea he had drank moments ago into the water. He observed the pool of vomit underneath him, some of which had landed on the sand, and—sickened with himself—coughed up another round.

He fell to his knees—bent over and grabbed his stomach—cursed some more. His eyes squeezed shut and refused to let the midday light enter him, refused to look into the ocean that he had just contaminated. He couldn't stop trembling, and when his stomach had emptied itself, he merely gagged flavorless saliva and tried hard to keep his clothes clean.

Everything ached. Even his crotch and thighs started stinging him, commending attention to a somewhat dormant part of his body. He repeated, over and over again, "What is wrong with me?" and actually expected a response.

But the squawking of the unknown bird he had just bought was the only noise besides his own.

The rocks that were set on the beach were smooth and when the ocean's water crashed against them, they made soft, muffled noises that melted into a loud, avoidable silence.

Aang collapsed into a fetal position and moaned into the sand—drunk with imaginary evils that he had somewhat forgotten until this instant.

No longer a fighter or a father or a lover—but a child. Forced to grow up too soon and too fast and in the wrong universe. War had stained him. His hands reeked of Hakoda and Suki's blood and it no longer mattered—nothing mattered. No amount of presents would fix things. No amount of tearful confessions or letters or admittances would bring Katara back to him.

And his daughter!

It was for Kya Lynn that Aang staggered to his feet and wobbled uneasily to Appa, reviewing the gifts he had just recently purchased. The bird squawked in its cage restlessly and woke Momo, who joined in the chirping—Appa grunted and countless waves crashed against the shore. Aang held his ears shut and shook his head.

"Quiet!" he cried helplessly. "Momo—shut it, will you?"

His lemur chirped and cocked his head to the side.

"God—you're driving me crazy! All you ever do is make noise! You know what? Here's something—you're grounded!" Aang blinked and crossed his arms. "Go to your room, young lady."

The Avatar's shoulders slackened. Indeed, he was aware of this new, violently ill state he had just entered, but the world was dark and filmy and he no longer cared about what he was doing or if his clothes were clean; the beach was abandoned and talking often helped him think and reason with himself. He took a deep breath.

"Don't try to argue with me," Aang warned, pointing at the animal. "It's no use! No—Katara, don't try to soften the matter! The girl's eating too much candy!" He paused reflectively and shut his eyes. He nodded to himself. "Well I _know_ that _I'm_ the one who _bought_ the chocolates in the first place"—he punched his chest with both hands—"but the girl needs some discipline…listen, Katara, why don't you just…well—I don't mean to...and even if you think of—darling, those are obviously crocodile tears."

Aang glanced quickly at Momo. He forced his voice down an octave. "Never mind your mother! I said: go to your room. _Now._"

Suddenly his face took on an exhausted quality to it. Aang feel to his knees and touched Appa's nose. He looked at the bison lovingly and cooed, "Don't listen to your mother. You can get your ears pierced if you really want to. You'll look lovely either way, Lynnie. Now, Katara, why do you have to be so strict?" Appa made a rumbling sound inside of his throat. "Don't worry, Lynnie. Baba's here. Katara, leave the girl alone, will you? So what if she's had too much candy?"

He wobbled over to the screaming bird and pressed his face against the wire cage. "Is this how it's been for four years?" he asked the feathered brute. "I should have been here sooner—your mother is acting horribly. Pay no mind, darling. Come sit in my lap. I brought you chocolates. Play with your 'Little Miss Mai' dolls, Lynnie. They were expensive. But not terribly. Come on now."

And then in an act of blindness and stupidity, Aang opened the cage and watched as the bird darted out and flew away. It immediately stopped screaming.

Watching this, Aang seemed to wake up. His rambling trailed off and left him in a confused and altered state of mind.

He realized the matter now. Nothing had changed—he was still nervous, and he still felt sick. But it was almost evening, and the priority hadn't changed either. He knew he needed to get back on Appa to finish what he had started.

He left the empty cage and the bag of bird feed on the sand, far from were he had gotten sick and emptied his stomach. Appa obviously detested the added weight and Momo detested the loss of his newest singing companion. The noises no longer bothered him. Aang knew now that he only needed two things: his purpose and reason. The scroll and the ring.

He took off into a darkening sky without looking back. And then for some reason he thought about Fa Ling's promises.

_You'll be fine._

_Katara is so lucky._

By the time he arrived, the South Pole snow had taken a bluish hue because of the darkened sky hovering above it. The ice was somber and nearly soundless. Aang felt like a thief with suspiciously acquired gifts as he trudged through the tundra, still a mile away from the village.

But he remembered only this: it was so dark, and when she appeared, he wondered briefly how she had known he was coming.


	10. Katara and Aang

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary:** "Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note: **This is so late. A thousand curses and then two thousand apologies. Applying for colleges is both time consuming and difficult.

Anyway, putting scorpiored112's personal problems aside, this chapter is **not the last one! There will be more after it.**So don't remove anything from your lists!

_Side note_: "Orabi" is pronounced "oh-RA-bee" and it's an actual name, taken from this old Egyptian movie. I figured that we needed to include Katara's past possible love life, if Aang has Fa Ling and all. And yay! A clever reviewer of mine actually took a liking to Fa Ling—I love that!

Watch for the "reflection" image in this chapter.

Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy...

_-scorpiored112_

* * *

.10.

The shoreline broke into a frozen marsh where the South Pole's harbors and docks were situated. The marsh itself was dark and full of mud, stones, patches of snow, boulders, and—especially—small pools of spirit water. It was here that Katara often came to collect the village's healing supply, and it was here—adjacent to the docks—that an Earth Kingdom sailer had tried to woo her.

It was two years after Kya Lynn's birth and so Katara's figure had somewhat recessed into the attractive little thing it used to be. The sailor's name was Orabi and he often followed Katara to the spirit water source to start small talk. Instantly, Katara took a liking to him and told him, on more than one occasion, that his constant following and polite nature reminded her of an old friend. Orabi seemed so familiar that she found herself confiding her problems to him—many times without even thinking about it.

Though he was older than her, Orabi was still considerably young. His hair was dark and long and pulled into a pin at the top of his head. His complexion always appeared paler than it should have been. Sometimes, his face would slacken while he talked to Katara, and other times he would quietly grind his teeth and pull at his left ear.

Katara was oblivious at first.

But she noticed—slowly but surely—that Orabi was starting to walk closer to her than usual. His face slackened a little too often. He had also acquired the tendency to avoid Katara's eyes when she spoke to him and looked at—or rather, stared at—her breasts and hips. She pretended not to notice. Orabi was her only source of confidence away from the village, and she wasn't willing to lose him to lust just yet.

They had known each other for a good three months when Orabi asked quietly, "Katara, would you like to see the inside of my ship?"

And Katara, simply because she had noticed the more-than-friendly changes in him, and because she had grown weary of boys who grew obsessed with her, replied politely as they sat on the main dock, "Thank you, Orabi. But I think I'll pass."

"Please?" he begged, touching her hand. "I've told you so much about it already. You have to come see it."

"I think I'm fine just sitting here with you."

"But, Katara—"

"Orabi," she laughed. "If I didn't know any better, I would say you want me in there for some other reason."

He exclaimed, "Well—I..." and absentmindedly sent his hand to his left ear. "I just want to show it to you, that's all." He tugged at his earlobe and smiled, as if in thought. Then he nudged Katara's side. "Come on, Water Tribe girl."

This was her nickname. Yes, Orabi always seemed so, so familiar. _Water Tribe girl_ and _forever girl_ were close—close enough, Katara thought subconsciously, to not differentiate between them.

"No thanks." She confessed finally, "I don't think I want to go."

"But—"

"But what?"

His face predictably slackened, which in turn caused Katara to slip her fingers out from underneath his large, rough hand. It was getting darker outside and the waves were hitting the dock with considerable force. Katara diverted her gaze to Orabi's ship, far in the background, and then focused on his face. It wouldn't hurt, she thought finally, if she were to humor him. After all, she felt immeasurably guilty—as though she had to go—and so when Orabi caught her stare again, she said, "I guess a few minutes wouldn't hurt."

His face lit up. "You're going to love it," he promised, and easily pulled her to her feet with him.

In all honesty, she had known it was a bad idea to begin with. Orabi was young and stronger than her and it was obvious that his little "come see inside my ship" plan was just some trick for them to be alone. Even now, Katara doesn't know why she followed him. She knows that she wasn't that stupid. Part of her thinks that Aang and Orabi's similar characteristics won her over. Part of her knows that she had always missed Aang and that Orabi was her way of dealing with it. Still another part admits that she was still human and still a woman and still rather confused—still considerably upset.

When inside the ship, her sailor carefully led her down a set of ladders, holding her close, to a long and narrow corridor that had a number of doors to either side. One door had a polished metallic plate on the window that read, "Shu Orabi: Earth Kingdom."

"There are people from all over the world on this ship," he explained briefly as he fumbled with the keys. "Most are from the Earth Kingdom, but we have people from the Fire Nation, too—and even the Northern Water Tribe."

He smiled and gestured for her to walk in first. Orabi's room was surprisingly well kept. His bed was furnished with gray and green sheets and his desk was littered with scrolls and letters from home.

"Do you like it?" he asked eagerly, lifting a brow.

"It's clean," she answered, once again out of politeness. "You must like mirrors."

"There are only three in here."

"I know. They just make the room look bigger."

"I guess I do like mirrors," he said distractedly, observing the mirror behind Katara that faithfully reflected her backside. "I know this sounds kind of weird," he laughed, "but a mirror can never really _lie_, you know what I mean?" He crossed his arms. "If there's one thing I hate, Katara, it's a liar."

An awkward silence ensued. Katara took a seat at Orabi's desk and observed the letters. He watched her, captivated, and lit a cigarette.

"Do you have a sweetheart back home, Orabi?" she asked mischievously.

"I don't think I do. Unless you know something I don't know. Ha!"

Katara picked up a scroll and observed it. "Fa Ling?" she asked.

"Just some girl I knew back home," he answered monotonously with a shrug. "Nothing serious. We were friends."

She smiled. "Who are the rest of these letters from?"

"My younger sisters and brothers and nephews and such," Orabi stated. He seemed inattentive to their conversation and then, for some reason, he began pacing. "My nephew just learned how to read. Now he's sending me letters."

"That's so sweet."

Another silence. Katara looked at her shoes. Orabi began grinding his teeth. His eyes glazed over. He grunted suddenly, "That chair probably isn't very comfortable, Katara."

"It's alright."

He breathed in heavily and ground his teeth some more. "Why don't you come sit on my bed?" he asked, pushing his fist into the comforter to demonstrate. "It's better than the chair." He held his open palm to her. Katara made a face.

She clarified, standing up, "I think I'm fine. I should be leaving soon anyway, Orabi." She paused. "Come on. You can walk me home."

And that is when the realization was uncovered, because when Katara stood and grasped the door handle, her eyes widened and her face flushed. It was locked.

"I don't want you to leave," he explained, taking a step closer to her. "Come sit on my bed, Katara."

"Orabi—"

It happened too fast. It happened too simply. And perhaps at that moment, she didn't want herself to leave, either. She had wanted Orabi. Not to make love to her, but more so to assure her that everything was going to be fine. That it was okay if she was a liar. And she couldn't deny the fact that Orabi was handsome, and it had been so long since someone had pressed against her and touched her face.

He held her arms at her sides. She did as she was told and sat on his bed. Then her lips parted and she began to think as she watched him bend over her.

And it wasn't her—no, it wasn't her—who so willingly leaned back on the mattress. It wasn't Katara who sighed his name when he felt the sash across her waist and lifted it, "Orabi?" like a question. Desperately—dependently, as if in admittance to him. And no—no, no, no—it wasn't her who let Shu Orabi lick the clearing of her neck and bare shoulder and finally pierce his tongue into her mouth, as she murmured over and over, "Orabi?"—sighing, breathing, moaning as softly as she could—all of it. Not her. Not Katara—not this shallow and helpless.

But it was Orabi's force and filth more than Katara's want that awakened her in a situation that could be deemed this imaginative and this stupid. She didn't love Orabi. She never would, no matter what. She was his Water Tribe girl, not his forever girl. And her daughter from another man, only two years old—the same one that Orabi didn't know about—was waiting her in the village.

She pressed her hands to his chest and pushed him away gently, half-lifting him. Orabi looked cockily at the distinct wetness and color on Katara's face.

And she caught her breath.

She stared at his slackened, effortless smile.

Then she slapped him as viciously as she thought possible.

The spirit water that she had collected earlier that evening with him was effectively used to escape. When Shu Orabi looked back underneath him, turning his offended visage slowly, he saw that Katara had disappeared. There was a large hole cut through his door, and an even larger hole in the side of his ship.

It had happened too fast. And too simply. And perhaps at that moment, he regretted being so impulsive. But he couldn't say that he _did _regret it. Five seconds with Katara had meant the world to him, even if it had ended too soon.

He inquired about her whereabouts in the village, mostly to apologize and start over. But the answers were all the same.

"You don't mean Kya Lynn's mother, do you?"

"Oh—she's the top healer—with the two-year-old, next to the healing lodge."

"You're talking about the Avatar's girl."

Unknowingly, Orabi came to hate Katara and the Avatar that he had never met. Katara never saw him again. He would always remember that she had lied to him about being single. For some reason, he had always seen Katara as some innocent virgin living in a secluded village. Orabi's filthy nature had been reflected back into him. He took all the mirrors in his room down and tried to forget that Katara ever happened.

And the hurt Katara felt at losing him translated into something deeper. She had only wanted to humor him because he reminded her so much of Aang. But Orabi—Shu Orabi, from the Earth Kingdom, who hated liars, and had a green and gray bed—the actual handsome, living Orabi...he was forgotten. He was just another suitor, another lover, another man that Katara had attracted and then disappointed. There had always been a lot of them.

Her only pride was that she hadn't kissed him back in that tiny room on his ship. She had never kissed anyone since Aang. And that was nice enough for her, she thought. It was her form of faithfulness.

Besides, it had been two years ago.

Katara liked to think that she was still a stupid child at twenty-two years.

She liked to think that her brain was more developed at twenty-four.

Two years after Orabi, in the middle of the night, as Toph and Sokka and Kya Lynn were fast asleep, she visited the same snowy marsh to think. She found her boulder and sat on it and looked at her reflection in the spirit water pool beneath. She placed her hands on her knees and made a face. Just four years ago, a looming belly would have prevented this tranquility. Lynnie's unborn weight would have gotten in the way. Aang's child. Who looked just like him.

Aang—who she had tried to be faithful to. Who probably frolicked with his fan girls every night. Who had probably forgotten about her until her letter had gotten to him.

Katara wondered, as she sat there, why she was waiting for him, and how she knew he was coming tonight.

It was still dark. The sky was illuminated with stars. The moon, half there, half not, hanging dimly above the marsh, was also reflected in the water. Katara sighed and wiped her eyes. She was so tired of this. So tired of not knowing what Aang was doing and where he was. So tired and disgusted with herself—for giving birth to a mistake and then killing her grandmother. So tired of being labeled as the village accident who ran with the Avatar and came back with a baby.

On the marsh now, Katara looked at her reflection—stared at it, hard—and then frowned. For the first time in two years, she thought about Orabi. She sent a hand to her left ear and pulled at it, the way he used to.

"It was to get back at Aang," she said suddenly to no one, filling the empty marsh with her voice. "That's why I let him touch me. That must be why."

Her voice shook. She hated the way it sounded. What was she doing here—waiting for Aang this late? And the marsh, of all places! The dimmest and muddiest part of the South Pole.

"It wasn't because they resembled each other at all," she added, laughing a little crazily to herself. "It was for revenge! All of it—because I hated him. For giving me Kya Lynn and leaving. That bastard. It was for revenge."

She picked up a handful of pebbles and threw them, one by one, into the spirit water, contorting her reflection. Her movements quickened. She threw all the pebbles at once, yet again shattering the serenity of the shoreline. She picked up another handful and threw it, mumbling a brief, "Hmph," with each swing. The pool was deep and swallowed the pebbles without giving anything back.

"Or it was because I loved him—they were just like each other. Except for the age! Orabi was taller. Aang's face never slackened."

Katara stopped and noticed that her hands were muddied. Her reflection smoothed out over the ripples in the water and stared back up at her, like some unknown stranger. Some filthy, ridiculous girl.

That was when she saw him.

It wasn't him, at first—in all honestly, it was just a reflection of him. And Katara was tired, and the pool had recently been disrupted by rocks and pebbles and dirt. And she had been talking to herself just seconds ago. So when she saw Aang's face in the water, right next to her own, she said quietly to it, "I must be seeing things."

The reflection said nothing.

"I'm going mad," Katara added, wiping her hands on the side of the boulder. "I wasn't faithful to you, Aang. I tried to be. I didn't kiss him back." She paused and bit her lip. "But it doesn't matter. You're not here. You don't even exist."

Katara's hair fell over her face as a gust of wind flew over the marsh. It carried a familiar scent with it, one that she had grown accustomed to some ten years ago. Burnt wood and tree bark and fruit.

Aang's reflection put its head down. Katara felt a hand on her shoulder.

They didn't move. His hand was warm and shaky. Another hand pulled the offended hair away from her face.

"I didn't kiss him back," the healer repeated, eyes fixed on the pool. "I wasn't faithful—but I swear to you, Aang...I tried to be. I wanted to be...I—I didn't kiss him back."

"Katara," the reflection mouthed, only she heard it from behind her, and then the hands were on both of her shoulders and before she knew it, she had turned around.

Aang stood limply, leaning his weight on one leg. It looked as though he was not only terribly fatigued, but also sick. He was smiling, Katara noticed—sadly, somewhat, but also hopefully. And his hair had grown out some. And his hands were at his sides because Katara had turned around. And he looked beaten and pale and childish. And there were distinct wet lines down his cheeks from those same silver eyes that had hardened in the four years he had been away.

They wanted to hug each other. She wanted to touch his face to see if he was real. He wanted to kiss her as deeply as he could. But there was something about the marsh that killed all thought of action. They remained still.

Katara looked at him in disbelief. Breathlessly. Wordlessly. She took him in all at once and tried to remember what she had said to herself earlier. And the turn of events, for some reason, forced color into her cheeks. She was embarrassed—a little tired—excited—unsure—and...and mostly...

Guilty, she thought. Most of all, guilty and surprised.

Aang opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. He blinked and wiped his eyes. Then he cleared his throat and straightened the bag that he held slung across his shoulder. He said miserably, his voice cracking, "I never wanted to leave you, Katara."

Katara didn't answer. She looked at him—again in disbelief—and parted her lips in thought.

He put his bag down and knelt on both knees so that they were eye level. He sat a good two feet away and placed his open palms on his legs.

Aang touched the back of his neck. "I didn't know you were..." He stopped and searched her face. "You were pregnant—when you left, I mean...I—well, I didn't know and I—didn't mean to do it to you, Katara...I swear to God...I didn't know that it would just..._happen_...so fast like that, and Katara—I...I..."

His hands tried to speak for him. They gestured nervously with shaking fingers and trembling wrists.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, refusing to look away from her. "I'm so, so, so sorry, Katara. I know it's not enough. It's not enough but...but I—I loved you and I...I love you _now—_I always did...I always will and I—I'm sorry."

Katara didn't answer. It felt as though they were both walking in a dream. His words came out but nothing was absorbed. Even the earth around them seemed to be teeming with some sort of unknown life, swelling and rising with Aang's breath.

"I know I left you," he confessed sleepily. "I know I gave up...I just need you to forgive me. That's all. You don't have to love me back, Katara...honestly, you don't." He added in a painful tone, "That part doesn't matter. I don't think you ever did."

She said immediately, "That's not true," and stood up and began walking towards the shoreline.

"Where are you going?" he asked crossly, straggling to his feet.

She murmured over her shoulder, "I don't know."

Aang ran to her. She walked slowly and flatly and refused to look at him.

"Katara," he started in distress, "why aren't you saying anything?"

"I don't know."

They had found a boulder closer to the frozen beach. This time when she sat down, Aang sat next to her and touched her hand.

This pause broke some sort of barrier between them. But seconds afterward, Katara pried her hand away and pulled her knees to her chest. She looked out over the water and then glanced at the Avatar seated next to her, straight-backed and confused and troubled.

"If you hate me," Aang said softly, looking at the hand that had just escaped, "then why did you want me to come back?"  
Katara shrugged and diverted her gaze. "I don't know," she said again.

"Well, I don't know either, Katara."

It was exactly as she had told Toph earlier. Seeing Aang again was uncomfortable, but most of all, it was unspeakably difficult. Katara didn't know what to say and Aang's preparedness only distracted her—she wondered if he had heard her soliloquy with his reflection at all.

"Aang," she started gently, contemplating, "I don't hate you."

Aang attempted to smile, but realized that he was still rather queasy from the flight and the meeting and so the result was an awkward, clumsy grimace.

Katara tried not to laugh at his expense. "This is hard to explain but...I know that it wasn't your fault."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean my dad and Suki." She continued quietly, "Don't ask me how I found out. But the resistance was never after you. It was after them."

She didn't see it, but Aang felt washed over in silent relief. "Really?"

"Yes...really." She paused. "And I don't hate you, Aang," she said again, savoring the sound of his name and touching his hand thoughtfully. "I never did."

Aang answered with acute directness, "I love you."

She felt heat rise up to her face. Four years, and the Avatar still had the ability to make her blush. She looked the other way, but Aang was clever. And suddenly Katara knew where this was going.

"Do you love me, Katara?"

It was such a blind and stupid thing to say. And maybe he didn't realize it, but those were the same words he had used in the hotel room four years ago, as Toph listened in from the opposite wall. Katara noticed the reference but said nothing. She watched him lean towards her and squeeze her hand.

"You're still so pretty," he added predictably. He touched her chin and turned it towards him.

"Aang."

"You haven't changed at all," he whispered with a smile. "I must look like a mess...but God, you're gorgeous, Katara...you're still so attractive—so beautiful—I would have never even thought—"

"Aang!"

He took her hand against her will and kissed it. "You're amazing—you're still amazing—I love you, I love you, I love you, Katara."

She mumbled his name bashfully, with an awkward, girlish laugh and a quick look around the marsh. She bit her lip. This was moving too quickly. They were still in the marsh and she had always hated Aang's flirting—it was his charm that had allowed her to give into him in the first place.

"I want to kiss you," he said, more to himself. He watched her wedge her lip into her teeth. And the dream feeling was still there, and Katara was having trouble avoiding him, and in all honesty, Aang knew how to be a womanizer. And a flatterer.

He came close enough so that their lips were inches apart. But then he didn't move.

"What are you doing?" she whispered abruptly when she noticed his stillness. Aang opened his eyes and noticed—amused—that Katara had been waiting for his impact. Her eyes—just as icy and as glazed-over as he had remembered them to be—stared up at him with distinct confusion and distinguishable want. And the notion of Katara _wanting_ him sent shivers down his frame. But he held firm.

"Aang," she repeated. "What are you doing?"

When he spoke, their lips brushed against each other. "Can I kiss you?"

"But you..." She hesitated and closed her eyes. "You don't have to ask me."

"Yes. I do."

"You don't."

"I want your permission before I do something stupid," he said, holding her chin. "I was impulsive last time." He paused, still inches away from her face, and breathed in heavily, allowing her scent to fill him. "I don't want that to ever happen again."

"That was different."

"I don't want to lose you, Katara."

Then something inside the healer snapped.

It had been breaking—she knew—slowly. Ever since Aang had appeared just moments ago, she was having trouble believing it. And now it was as if he had just come—just appeared suddenly out of the clouds and landed on the shoreline.

When she _did_ snap, there in the marsh on that flat boulder, she grabbed Aang's face and kissed him as deeply as she could, resulting in a "Hmph?!" of surprise from Aang and a "Hmph!" of assurance from his lover.

Both settled into a unanimous "Hmph..."

He tasted just as he had four years ago. Burnt wood and tree bark and fruit. Katara tasted like snow and salt. He leaned into her and held her waist gently with one hand, her face cupped perfectly in the other. And the barrier, surprisingly enough, was broken by Aang himself, who somehow felt assured that Katara had forgiven him. His tongue rolled into her mouth and forced her eyes to open lazily in amazement. The sensation felt so new and so different from before. It was perhaps then Katara understood that absence honestly did make the heart grow fonder.

He did not ask her about her faithfulness to him. She did not ask if he frolicked with his fan girls every night. They both completely forgot about Kya Lynn—which displayed poor parenting skills, but also deep love for one another that couldn't be penetrated by mundane responsibilities.

In retrospect, it was a very good thing that the marsh had always remained secluded. It was also good that it remained warm, even without coats and the other bearings of clothed travelers. And the mud was comfortable, and the spirit water was romantic, and the clouds were the only witnesses.

And it was here—on the marsh—that the letters were forgotten and the deaths were put aside. It was here Katara breathed Aang's name for the first time in what had felt like forever.


	11. Kya Lynn and Toph

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary:** "Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note: **We were all expecting Aang and his daughter to be next (myself included)—but ah! The temptation was too sweet.

Image in this chapter? I don't know—does one even _exist_? (You'll understand this pun in the next seven minutes or so! Hahaha...)

Much candy coated love,

_-scorpiored112_

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.11.

Sometimes Kya Lynn spoke to her bison doll. Not very often—just sometimes—when no one else would listen and no one else seemed to remember she existed. But Lynnie was a smart girl and knew that her little genderless Appa wasn't real. She knew because Katara had told her.

Before Gran Gran's death, Lynnie had asked her mother why toys didn't talk.

"Because they're not real, darling," Katara had answered dismissively, working on healing a patient.

"But Mama," Lynnie pressed , "toys _are_ real. You can hold them. And talk to them. And they exist."

Katara felt her lips tighten. "I know, dear. But they don't have a heartbeat. They can't breathe or see. Or answer you. So they're not real. Now give Mama some space."

But if this was the case, Lynnie thought later, than most of the things in her life weren't real. Most of her things didn't exist. And then, for reasons too complex for her to grasp, Lynnie felt as though she didn't exist either.

To Katara, real things talked so she could hear them and argue with them. Real things saw her face flush at some random emotional outburst. Real things breathed and answered so that she could measure their stress. Real things had a heartbeat so that healing them wouldn't be terribly difficult. Lynnie was somewhat of a real thing to her mother. She breathed and had a heartbeat and could see. But she didn't have answers. Lynnie was a large, bastard question mark.

To Kya Lynn, real things could be held and talked to, like Appa. But since Gran Gran died, which already seemed like ages ago, no one had _really_ held Kya Lynn and _really_ talked to her. Katara was still her mother, but she was also very detached. And now the drifting feeling was persistent, and made Lynnie feel weary and upset inside.

The only change was that, recently, the village had begun to see her in a new light. It was after the night she had cried and screamed a lot—although now, she can't remember why—and after the thirty letters Aang had sent her mother. The villagers often murmured in low tones, "Her father's coming back," and would look at her approvingly, which was new to Kya Lynn, and scared her, a little.

People also began to refer to her as "the reincarnate from the Earth Kingdom," which Lynnie also had trouble understanding. But she liked being a little magical object. She liked living in oblivion while people talked about her. It made her feel important where her hurt existed—that she knew, somehow, at this early age—that she would never become her mother, and that her mother's only existence in her was measured in heartbeats and breathes and other physical evidence.

On a particularly thoughtful night, as her uncle Sokka snored in Gran Gran's old room and his friend Toph shuffled lazily in the healing lodge connected to the igloo, Lynnie awoke fiercely and looked about her room.

"Mama?" she asked, and her voice was hollow and drowsy as she stood up to observe Katara's empty mattress. "Mama!" she said again, more awake, and began searching the rest of the igloo when a thought struck her.

She was horrified. Her confidant—her ageless companion other than her mother—was still with that sick Toph lady in the healing lodge. Lynnie felt a hiccup rise into her throat as she opened the door connecting the two small buildings and wedged her way inside. The fact that Katara was missing disturbed her, but she needed to hear Appa's take on the ordeal before she could properly asses a decision.

"That sick Toph lady" was, as Lynnie phrased it in her four-year-old mind, "really pretty, for a sick lady."

She had yet to talk to Toph, but already she found her askew limbs amusing. She looked like a wilting white flower. Most of all, Lynnie was fond of the patient's skin tone, which was strikingly close to her own.

Lynnie approached the bed with caution and stood on her toes. She squinted in the darkness and the poor supply of light that sifted in from the window. She couldn't see him.

To make sure she wasn't being rude, Lynnie decided against waking Toph and—instead—climbed into the bed to get a better view, as Appa liked crawling under covers and losing himself on purpose.

The patient beds weren't on the floor like Lynnie and Katara's sleeping mattresses—no, the patients needed to be elevated to avoid heat loss. But Lynnie got up with little trouble and then sat on Toph's stomach, observing the remaining covers for her bison. When her search proved useless, she stood up and sat a little lower on Toph's gut, which resulted in a grunted "Umph" of confusion from the makeshift searching base.

Lynnie did not know that Toph was blind.

In fact, she didn't really know that blind people existed.

According to Katara, after all, things that couldn't see weren't real.

So the fact that Toph grabbed Lynnie's arms and threw both of their weight forward as she sat up made Lynnie scream.

And then Toph was screaming. And then they were both screaming and Appa was instantly forgotten and only then did Lynnie honestly miss Katara.

"Oh my God!" Toph was repeating. "Who is this? What's happening?" Lynnie stopped screaming when she heard distinguishable words coming from Toph's mouth. "Katara?" Toph asked loudly. The lodge rang with her voice. "Katara? What's going on?"

The child answered softly, "Mama isn't here."

Toph's grip on Lynnie's arms slackened. She sighed in relief and moved some hair out of her face. "It's you," she stated, the red in her cheeks dying down. "Kya Lynn. Katara's girl."

"Do you know where Appa is?" Lynnie asked immediately.

"...Who?"

"Appa—my bison. I gave him to you. Don't you remember seeing me before?"

"Oh." Toph yawned audibly and smiled to herself. "My eyes were closed," she mused, but then added, "I'm blind, Kya Lynn."

"You're not bald!"

"Blind," the woman repeated, taking Lynnie by the insoles of her armpits and placing her on the floor. "It means I can't see anything." She reached for the nightstand, grabbed Lynnie's doll from behind the pitcher of water, and handed it to her.

"Ever?" the child inquired, taking the bison.

"Ever."

"Well...how do you use a mirror?"

"I don't, Lynnie."

"And how did you know where Appa was? I couldn't even see him in the dark."

"I put it there, and then I felt for it," Toph answered lazily. She yawned again and stretched towards the ceiling.

"But if you can't see, then—"

"Look, kid," Toph started. "I hate to sound like a jerk but...I'm not exactly good at this whole 'baby sitting' deal."

Lynnie tucked Appa underneath her arm.

"So why don't you go wake your uncle Sokka? He probably knows where Katara is."

Lynnie made a face. For some reason, she had taken to this new stranger and felt the need to stay with her. "I don't want to leave just yet," Lynnie concluded, crawling back on the bed. "I want to stay here."

Toph made a face at the added weight on the mattress. "But _why_?"

"I like you."

"Well, that's flattering but you—"

"And I don't like Sokka," Lynnie continued, absentmindedly undoing a braid. "His hands are big." She took a moment to study Toph's face before adding urgently, "Please don't make me go back to the igloo. I wanna stay here with you." She paused. "And I can help you—since you can't see."

"You are definitely Katara's daughter," Toph groaned, slapping a hand to her forehead. "You don't even know who I am and you're already in my business."

Kya Lynn blinked at this new piece of information. "But the whole village says I'm just like my dad."

"Well, I can't see you. I wouldn't know the difference." Toph admitted, reaching for her glass of water, "You sound just like Katara, if that makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't make me feel any better," Lynnie whispered, more to Appa than to Toph. "Me and Mama are different. She's always busy. I don't even know where she is right now."

The patient frowned deeply and recessed into her blankets. She wondered why she was always placed in such uncomfortable, consolatory positions—especially when she wasn't any good at it. "I'm sure she'll show up sooner or later," she replied with a pathetic smile, touching Lynnie's shoulder. "She has to."

And Toph was suddenly reminded of her own mother, Poppy, who had also been rather dismissive throughout her childhood.

Then Kya Lynn did something rather unexpected. She placed her head on Toph's pillow and squirmed into the comforter. The earthbender's face tightened as she dawned upon the fact.

"You intend to stay," the woman sighed. "Wonderful, Lynnie. Just wonderful."

"Do you know any stories?"

"This isn't happening to me."

"Mama told me a story about these benders once."

"Oh boy."

"Do you wanna hear it?"

There was something in Lynnie's voice that caught Toph's attention—something that sounded like silk, or air. It gave Toph a peaceful feeling that translated into something she often felt when she had been with Sokka all those years ago.

Lynnie was affectionate, Toph thought. Peaceful and affectionate and full of promise.

"Okay," she sighed after a short pause. "Let's hear it."

"Well," Kya Lynn started, pulling at the tuft of hair on top of her doll's head. "I can't remember it all—but I remember most of it."

"Alright."

Lynnie cleared her throat. "There's two benders and they love each other and they go into this cave."

"A cave?"

Toph felt Kya Lynn nod against the pillow. "It's called 'Cave of No Others,' and then the door of the cave gets closed."

Toph rolled to her back and faced the ceiling. Sokka had told her about the Cave of Two Lovers ages ago, when she was still getting accustomed to traveling with the Avatar and his makeshift family.

"So the only way to open the door is if they kiss," Lynnie continued dreamily. Toph imagined her smiling. "But they're both too shy to do it."

"Then what happens?" Toph inquired quietly, grinning a little to herself. "Do they kiss?"

Lynnie hesitated. "I don't really know," she confessed. "Mama never finishes it."

There was a distinguishable sound of disapproval in the girl's voice—as if Katara had been too busy, or too tired. Toph imagined her cooing to her daughter about how she would finish the story tomorrow or the next day, only to find that life was too busy for her to actually finish anything—only to realize that the story in itself was never ending to begin with.

"I think I know that story," Toph stated after a short pause, turning on her side. "I've heard it before."

She heard Lynnie sit up. "Really?"

"Yeah. I know how it ends. You want to hear it, Lynnie?" Toph didn't know what she was offering. Actually, she didn't really know what had happened in the Cave of Two Lovers—she wasn't there, and had only heard parts of it. But she figured that Katara shouldn't keep things from her daughter, and then her desire to tease Katara and Aang got the best of her.

"Yeah I do!" Lynnie returned gracefully, clapping. "What happens?"

"Well," Toph started, taking another sip of water. "They're both too shy to do it, right? But then they realize that if they don't do it, they're going to be locked in the cave forever. And you know what lives in caves, don't you, Kya Lynn?"

"No—what?"

"Badger Moles!" Toph exclaimed, turning around briskly and displaying a clawing gesture with two hands. Lynnie shrieked in disgust and then giggled at Toph's facial expression.

"What are Badger Moles? Like monsters?"

"Better than monsters! They're awesome," the patient replied, cherishing memories of early childhood. "They're the best things ever. Even better than penguins. But they don't like people in their caves—kissing and doing all that gross stuff. You know."

"Oh..."

"Okay," Toph continued. "So then the girl admits she really likes the boy and then—"

"But Misses Toph Lady," Lynnie interrupted brashly. "The benders have names."

Toph blinked. She didn't know that Lynnie had known her name this whole time, and hearing the way she said it made her want to laugh. Toph wondered if she had ever sounded this childish in her younger days, or if her own inborn independence had forced her to grow up too fast.

"The girl is Regret," Lynnie said quietly, captivated. "The boy is Persistence."

Toph attentively moved some hair away from her face.

"The names change," Lynnie explained. "I mean, every time Mama tells it, the people change a little."

"How?"

"Sometimes the girl is Sorrow, or Lust, or Idiocy." She paused and squinted, as if remembering. Obviously, Lynnie had no idea what the names meant. "Once she was Hateful."

"And the boy?"

"He's always Persistence," Kya Lynn answered, rubbing Appa's button eyes. "I think one time, he was Forgetful. But usually, he's Persistence." Then the child bolted upright and looked at Toph's expression. "I thought you've heard this before! How come you don't know the names?"

Toph shrugged and tried to laugh, but she was tired and confused and upset with Katara for leading her daughter into such complex metaphorical subject matters. And so the outcome was a brief, lopsided smile. "Because I think the names should be something different," she stated.

"Like what?"

"The way I see it," Toph started, pulling the comforter to her chin. "The boy should be Apology, and the girl should be Forgiveness."

"Those sound nice," Lynnie said, though she didn't understand the significance of these names, either.

"And in the end of the story," Toph finished, feeling her eyelids pull down. "They kiss even though they're nervous and then they have a baby."

Lynnie had also started drifting off, but she was still with Toph, somewhat. "What's the baby's name?" the girl asked sleepily, yawning.

"Her name is Promise," the earthbender concluded factually. "They don't do a very good job of watching her, Lynnie. And she's kind of annoying, because she's young. But she can help them get out of the cave—if they let her."

Kya Lynn fell asleep with an innocent, unknowing smile pasted underneath her nose. And then Toph deliberately went against Katara's orders and stood up. She made sure Lynnie was fast asleep before leaving the healing lodge and entering Katara's igloo.

Pain is a funny thing, Toph thought fondly, thinking of Lynnie from the doorway. This morning, she had been overcome with pain—from every joint, and every pore—it seemed to drip out of her all over. Her blood was still too weak. Just having her heart pumping behind her ribs was taking away energy: energy that Toph had just graciously displayed to Kya Lynn in story form.

And yet, as she walked into Katara's igloo, Toph felt her limbs slowly stir to life. Whatever Katara had done hours ago was starting to work. The earthbender could feel it. It was there—it existed—and now she knew she needed to make the best of it.

Much to Toph's displeasure—unlike the wooden healing lodge—Katara's igloo was crafted completely of ice.

Toph made a face as soon as her left foot touched some furry, dense rug. She imagined Katara's neatness sprayed in every corner—in picture frames, and low couches, and little tables with tea pots on them. Toph didn't know that since Gran Gran's death, Katara couldn't grasp the importance of being tidy anymore. If Toph could have seen, she would have only noticed the bareness, the vacancy that Katara felt inside of her that she reflected into her igloo.

The patient felt her way around, cursing under her breath when some of Lynnie's toys hit her feet. But when she felt the doorway and recognized Sokka's snoring, she stopped and held her breath. She felt around the room to the mattress on the floor and then she touched the warrior's messy collection of loose hair.

"Sokka," Toph started, touching his closed eyelids. She was surprised at how soft his skin felt. "Sokka, get up."

He stirred, lightly at first—murmured something indecipherable as Toph felt him blink. She pulled her hands away and fixed her legs so that she sat cross-legged in front of him on Katara's incredibly comfortable carpet.

Sokka rubbed his eyes and squinted.

"It's me," Toph stated after a brief hesitation.

"...What's..."

"Katara's gone," the earthbender whispered, saving him the trouble. She crossed her arms distractedly. "Her daughter's still here and she just asked me about her. Do you know where she went?"

Sokka tried to orient himself. He sat up and stretched lazily, pulling his arms back and cracking his knuckles. "Like I know where my sister goes in the middle of the night," he returned quietly. And then Toph felt him stare at her. When he spoke again, his voice was smooth. "I see you're doing better, Toph."

Toph grimaced and ignored this. "So you don't know where she is?"

He waved her off dismissively. "No. But who cares? Katara's a big girl—she can take care of herself."

She didn't answer.

"I didn't know you'd be able to walk around," Sokka continued, sounding genuinely interested. "This is really good! I knew Katara would be able to heal you."

Toph stood up briskly. "I'm not speaking to you, Snoozles," she informed, crossing her arms again. "I just came to ask about Lynnie's mom—that's it. You can go back to sleep."

"But—"

"By the way," Toph added, turning around, "you were completely useless."

She had intended to leave immediately and search for Katara herself—as Toph had taken a liking to Kya Lynn and wanted to help her. But then she felt Sokka grab her forearm from behind and pull her back into the room, like a rag doll—weighing nothing.

"Get off!" she insisted, pulling at his grip.

"Would you just talk to me, for a minute?"

"Why should I?" Toph asked furiously, still working on releasing her arm. "I just said I'm not speaking to you—now let me go!"

She heard Sokka sigh desperately and then—though they had honestly tried conversing in whispers—their voices grew much louder.

"Toph, _please_." Sokka grabbed her other arm and held her firmly. Toph realized, scowling, that her anemia had made her an easy target.

She grunted uneasily when he steadied both of their weight against the wall. "You're sick if you try anything, Sokka!" she warned, writhing through his will. "I'll scream—I swear to God I'll scream!"

"Toph, would you just—"

"I'll scream—and I'll beat the living—"

"I'm not _going_ to try anything!" Sokka replied helplessly. "Would you just calm down?"

Finding her efforts inefficient and tiring, her struggle stopped. Both breathed heavily into the vacancy of Sokka's sleeping quarters. Toph noted that her strength was starting to wear thin. She blew strands of loose hair away from her face and wondered if their screaming had awaken Kya Lynn.

"You used to trust me," Sokka started quietly, searching her face. "I don't know what happened."

Toph answered in a fierce tone, "You never grabbed me and held me against walls."

"There's no other way to keep you in one place, Toph," he stated, grinning though she couldn't see it. "I'm not letting you go."

"Huh!" she grunted in disgust. "Then why should I trust you?"

"Because I'm your _friend_, for God's sake!" He sounded hurt and distressed. Toph had no idea that her attention mattered so much to him, and the thought sent unrecognizable shivers across her bare shoulders. Heat rose to her face when she heard him shuffle around in his spot, as if thinking, and then his grip on her arms was released.

She rubbed her offended limbs, but didn't move.

"I'm your friend and I have no idea what's wrong with you." He was pacing around the room. Toph was reminded of the fight in the reception room—how Sokka had swung his club, danced to his words, and struck Aang in the back as hard as he could.

How he had held her and asked, over and over, "Is my sister lying?"

The thought was horrific, but Toph held her ground. She was no longer desperately in love with Sokka as she had been four years ago. She didn't have to listen to him if she didn't want to.

So she didn't answer. She waited and listened as Sokka grew considerably closer.

"Why are you mad at me?" he asked directly. "That's all I want to know—if you tell me, I'll be able to fix it."

"What do you care?" she murmured. "Four years ago, you couldn't have cared less!"

"That was different. People died."

"You mean people were killed," Toph corrected, stepping closer to him. He inched back and watched, entranced, as Toph's facial muscles moved underneath her skin. "People were killed—you thought I killed them. Suki, specifically. You remember that, don't you, Snoozles?"

"I shouldn't have accused you," he admitted embarrassedly, touching the back of his neck. "It was my mistake."

"You believed yourself," she spat disgustedly. "Why on God's earth would _I_ kill _Suki_? Why would I kill _anybody_?"

Sokka, lost and unsure and rather embarrassed that he'd started this, didn't answer.

"I actually liked Suki," Toph concluded finally, finding the edge of his mattress and sitting on it. "I liked her a lot. We were friends." She stopped and pulled at her hair. She blushed when she continued, "I admit I might have been a little jealous—I even admit that I thought I loved you—but I wasn't crazy."

He confessed gently, "I didn't know."

"You don't know anything," Toph stated loudly. "We weren't obsessed with you. There's a universe outside of lust, Sokka."

The room was enveloped in a thick silence—it spread over the walls and through their voices. They said nothing. Toph didn't move when he joined her on the bed and said nothing when he sighed distractedly, as if upset or deeply disturbed. The silence settled them—made them think—prompted them to reconcile. But it helped—as the fact that Sokka wasn't saying anything also prompted Toph to add sleepily, hands in her lap, "I really _did_ like her, Sokka."

"So did I," he joked pathetically, wiping anxious droplets from his forehead. He turned to her slowly. "Do you want to hear something crazy?"

"Might as well."

"I still feel she's..._here_...sometimes." Sokka's voice cracked noticeably. He tried, in vain, to clear it. "Like—alive, only..."

"Only nonexistent," Toph finished for him, feeling for Sokka's blanket. He helped her pull it over her shoulders and watched as her shivering settled. "But who the hell knows what's existent and what's not?"

Sokka shrugged—realized she couldn't see it—and answered, "I guess no one does."

"Exactly." Toph yawned and squeezed her eyes shut. "Suki might as well be sitting in the next room, for all we know."

"So you're saying you feel it too," Sokka confirmed, straightening his back. "I mean—that she's still around?"

Toph hesitated and then—suddenly, without forethought—fell back on Sokka's mattress. She curled up and recognized a familiar South Pole scent—flavored tobacco and smoke. This was Sokka's grandmother's room.

"People forget other people exist all the time," Toph whispered calmly. "But I have a belief."

"Oh?"

"Sure. Only it's more of a question." Toph buried her face in Sokka's pillow, completely aware of his fascinated gaze resting comfortably on her back. Oddly enough, she felt at peace with him being there, and then thought fondly to herself that the peace—her trust in him—had come back. "If we forget people exist," she started, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, "do they stop existing?"

Sokka's stare hardened considerably as he thought this over. "And if we do forget," he asked back, noticing that the sun was rising through his window, "do you think they know?"

When no one answered, Sokka realized that Toph had fallen asleep. He stood and was instantly surprised to find his sister's silhouette hobbling over the snow towards the center of the village, with a familiar shadow at her side, supporting her weight.

Sokka blinked and turned to Toph. For the first time in ages, he began to honestly consider what existed, and what didn't.


	12. Kya Lynn, Aang, and Katara

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**

Letters from the Falling Sky

**Summary:** "Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note: **I admit that I'm at fault for making you wait this long. Believe me—I enjoy writing fan fiction more than doing calculus. But priorities are difficult like that.

I recommend for those of you who are forgetting what's happened so far to _go back and read the first eleven chapters over again_, if you have the time. I actually had to read the whole thing three times through to put the little plot things back in my memory! Strangely enough, it worked wonders.

A few things are addressed in this chapter that I feel I should probably outline, as more than one reviewer caught them: (1) Kya Lynn's maturity at such a young age and her status with Suki (2) The fact that Aang isn't a magical object that can just make things better now (3) Katara's detached attitude towards her daughter (4) The village's attitude towards Katara and her bastard child, which is ultimately looked down upon in any old world tribe. (5) Katara and Aang's relationship now that he's returned to her.

And for those of you curious, I _have_ been reading ALL of your wonderful reviews. If I haven't replied to you, please don't feel crummy. I'm at loss for all the work I have to get done, and so I figured that I'd give all of my reviewers the ultimate gift by updating! Thus encouraging more feedback—as your thoughts are always valuable to me.

_-Happy reading!_

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.12.

"She's a picky eater," Katara explained in the darkness. "She refuses to eat fish. I don't know why. She kept mentioning a sea monster before. Now she won't eat it at all."

"But she'll have vegetables?"

"Sort of. Gran Gran used to feed her a lot." Suddenly her voice grew quiet. "Now Pakku does, actually."

"Where are you this whole time—when they're feeding her?"

Katara's eyes turned glassy for a moment, as if recollecting. She bit her lower lip. "Where _am_ I? I don't know. Everywhere. No where." Then her voice dropped again, and she traced the outline of his face with her forefinger, lingering there on his earlobe, tugging at it as softly as she could. "Things were never right after you left, Aang. Or when I left. Whichever."

She rolled to her side and caught his lips between her teeth. They had decided to rest in Appa's saddle. The sun crawled lazily into the sky and spread a red hue over them—a secret blanket, protecting the adoration—the conversation of their daughter—the sex. She didn't feel like talking, although Aang wanted to learn more about Kya Lynn, and though it was obvious that he was nervous of their first meeting. But all she could think of now—or, more over, all that possessed her now—was an unbelievable lust for the Avatar that seemed to paralyze everything else—freeze it. This was what was missing this whole time—what Katara felt she needed now, more than anything else.

This is what she told herself.

But when she felt Aang grow closer, the feeling lifted, breaking her mood.

"Aang—" she started; she placed her hands against his chest, attuned to his heartbeat throbbing against her fingers, an unfinished rhythm. Katara closed her eyes and breathed through her mouth. "I just need a second," she promised, and smiled a little, caressing his bare leg with the tip of her toes—a silent, childish promise—a signal of her own emptiness—an emptiness that translated into something deep and exhausted.

"You're thinking," Aang observed quietly.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

Katara looked at the reddening sky above them and sat up, moving her hair away from her shoulders. "I'm thinking," she explained, "about how Kya Lynn is going to take to you."

"What do you mean?"

It is the hardest thing in the universe to be completely honest with those you love, specifically when the truth hurts to unmentionable levels.

"It's nothing, really," she answered, crossing her arms. "But I...Aang, I..." She began distractedly, "I haven't exactly been the greatest mother on the planet."

She refused to face him—refused to acknowledge her own downfalls since Aang left four years ago. She clasped her hands together.

"Gran Gran raised Kya Lyn," she confessed. "I just sort of...watched. And I have a feeling that even though you're back...nothing is going to change." Aang sat up to listen. "I was expecting you to solve all my problems," she concluded, "but somehow, I don't think that's going to happen, either."

"I bought her presents," he offered meekly, touching Katara's face but then frowning when she flinched at his contact. "It'll be fine, Katara. Maybe _I _can't do anything personally, but we can both work on this. Together."

"That's another thing," Katara said, slipping her coat over her head. "I have this other idea and... it's going to sound stupid, Aang, but—I can't help it."

"A bad idea?"

"I don't know." Katara tied her sash around her waist hurriedly. "Just...a feeling. Like something isn't right."

"It'll be fine," he replied, kissing her forehead. "You worry to much."

"I guess so," she said, but even Aang knew she wasn't being completely honest with him.

The Avatar began to dress himself, conscious of Katara's stare resting peacefully on his back. But he couldn't lie to himself and say that he didn't feel it too—the dampness. The murky air around him, constricting his breathing. He had always thought that his return to Katara would solve all of his problems too, but reality was sinking in, and Aang didn't like it.

"I have to ask you something when we get to the village," Aang said, repositioning himself on Appa's head. "It's important, so I want it to wait."

Katara crossed her legs and looked at the bags of gifts Aang had needlessly purchased. "Whatever you say, Aang."

"You'll like it," he promised. But Katara didn't answer. Her head was in her hands—a dead weight that rested numbly there, contemplating and worrying over things that had yet to happen, but were also inevitable.

When she didn't move, Aang leaped off of Appa's head to the saddle. "What's going on?" he whispered, turning her face to him. "Katara, are you okay? Should I get you anything?"

"No—no, you don't have to."

She was looking up at him, and Aang saw a strange shadow over her eyes—as if they were made of wax or stone. Her arms snaked about his neck suddenly and pulled him down. But when their lips made contact, he took immediate notice of how cold and still her mouth was; this all felt peculiar to him.

"Katara, is there something—"

"She must hate me," Katara said, releasing him and staring at her own hands again. "She must hate both of us."

"Who are you talking about?"

But Katara's voice was raspy and tight and thin, as if she was saying something because she had to, not because she wanted to. "Just let the village raise her!" she screeched, making Aang jump. "Honestly. I'm a fucking idiot for even trying. Something should have been done about that, before it happened."

Aang grimaced in realization of another one of Katara's rants. He knitted his brows closer together and sat there motionless.

"She's only four years old and she's smarter than all the kids in her age group. But she can't bend. And what's the point of that? I was afraid she'd be an airbender, Aang, to tell you the truth. I hated you. Or, I thought I did."

Aang's body felt tense. "But you don't?"

"I don't know," Katara stated, much to her lover's surprise. "I mean I _did_. Yes, I did. Well—but...now...it's different _now_." Katara leaned forward and kissed him again, harder than before—shoved her tongue between his lips and pulled his mouth open, holding the back of his head, like cracking a melon. Aang's eyes widened with surprise and anxiousness. This kiss was warmer, but still detached. And this _was_ Katara, but at the same time, it wasn't.

He didn't speak after breaking away from her.

"No matter how close I get to you," she said suddenly, as if reciting a fact, "it's not...the way it used to be." Then she sighed and slumped forward, as if this little new piece of information really meant nothing. She offered lazily, "We should be getting back to the village now, anyway."

Aang sat—dazed—and felt a rush of strange emotions crash into his chest. That's what the feeling was: aching...craving...something that Katara had associated with their lovemaking a long time ago. But the physical aspect wasn't enough for her for that simple reason—

He couldn't offer her peace of mind just yet.

Like it or not, there were still mistakes that needed to be corrected and addressed—things that should have been done before this. Before the marsh.

This is what Aang thought of as Appa trudged into the village center, around the zebra-seal statue that Master Pakku had crafted. It was still considerably early, but that didn't prevent hoards of unnamed children from rushing up to the flying bison and crowding around him, shouting excitedly, "It's Mister Avatar!" or "Wow—a bison thingy!"

Indeed, Appa was more popular than Aang was with the children; but the adults, watching strictly from the doorways of their igloos and cabins, kept their eyes locked on Katara as Aang helped her off of Appa's saddle. Their noses flared out and their faces contorted in too many places to count. A film of whispers surpassed them—that this was in fact Katara's significant other, and he had come back, just as he said he would.

Katara, meanwhile, kept her eyes down as Aang followed her to the doorway of her own igloo—a large mass of globular structures that she had bended herself, before Lynnie's birth. The healing lodge, right next door, was made of wood, thanks to various non-benders who had also wanted to contribute.

This is what is so great about our tribes, Katara thought idly, working the lock. They work together, no matter what.

And then she smiled sadly to herself and walked in, leaving Aang to enter behind her.

The igloo was dark and soundless—Katara guessed everyone was still sleeping. She pulled her coat off and sat cross legged on the low couches of the living room. There was a hearth in the center that provided minimal heat when necessary. Aang followed suit and looked about him—the walls were barren and there were small wooden toys everywhere.

"I imagined your house to be a little more...decorative," he admitted in a whisper, sending his gaze to Katara again.

She raised a brow.

"It's just that it...looks really empty in here."

"It _is_ really empty in here," she stated monotonously, filling a teapot and placing it carefully on the hearth. "It's been like this since Lynnie was born."

Aang's face twitched at the name. "Do you think she's still asleep?"

"She might be."

Aang inquired with one of his confused expressions, "...Which way is her room, exactly?"

Katara began staring, which made him somewhat uncomfortable. She searched his face and looked through his eyes—she thought of the four years that he had been away—how he hadn't sent a single letter, nor rode his bison for a tiny visit. She thought about the night he had impregnated her and how she had hurt him—how she had told him that their separation was for the best.

_For the best_.

The words themselves were lies. Katara stared at him for a good two minutes before she rose slowly and walked to the room she and her daughter shared, only to be greeted by two empty mattresses.

For some reason, this sight flushed into her heart and sent her thoughts spiraling. Everything was out of control. Aang's return had done nothing but confuse her further—and she had fallen for him. Again.

And she had slept with him.

_Again_.

So when she sat down on her own mattress and forced her face into the pillow, she felt a looming guilt gnaw at her insides. Then she squeezed her eyelids together and forgot about Lynnie and the emptiness that consumed not only her room, but also her body.

"I'm such a fucking idiot," she repeated, but the pillow muffled her words and absorbed the trail of saliva that resulted from talking into it so closely.

She didn't know that, meanwhile, Aang sat patiently in the living room, watching the teapot come to a boil. He touched the clay handle and pulled it off, placing it on a coaster that Katara had left nearby. There were two clean glasses that he imagined his lover and his daughter used frequently.

Aang thought about Kya Lynn and also about proposing, and then he felt like slapping himself. He should have proposed before they fell into each other at the marsh, as—since then—Katara had seemed to be a little more intent on touching him, but less intent on actually getting _in _touch with him. And it was the emotional qualities that he missed more than anything—her smiling, her dimples indenting each cheek...how she used to hold him—not because her body needed him, but because she simply wanted him closer. Near her. It was like when they were still young—before Aang had started to associate "near" with "inside."

He was sometimes glad that the war had placed their relationship on hold, as Aang had always felt the need to rush. But Katara was steady and even. She complimented him perfectly because of this, and now it seemed as though she had begun fraying around the edges—becoming more and more needy—more like him. More in a rush. More confused. She needed help. And while Aang was the Avatar, he was still only twenty-two years old and still suffering a few wars of his own. As, he thought, it was fine if Katara was changing—but that would mean he needed to change too.

Aang looked about the igloo and noticed dimly that Katara had yet to return.

He also noticed—again rather dimly—that he was afraid of change.

These thoughts kept him occupied until he heard a noise and craned his neck back. Then he witnessed a small child pushing the wooden door of the healing lodge open and squirming inside. Her face was pink and her eyes were still drowsy—pulled into little, tired slits. She held a furry doll at her side and her hair was spread out in chocolate waves around her small, round face. She looked at Aang and then at the teapot.

And then something seemed to spark behind her eyes—some small outburst, like the explosion of a star in space, or the first root sprouting from a seed—unknown of and probably distant, but amazing nonetheless.

She dropped her bison and ran to Aang with little socked feet, swinging her arms around him tightly and resting her head in the flex of his shoulder and neck.

"Baba," she exclaimed softly—endearingly. "Baba. You came back."

"I—uh...I..." He touched her back unsurely, hesitating with this new sensation. It felt as though he was defiling a shrine. And when he spoke again, his tone was high and sore. "Lynnie?"

"Yeah," the girl said, nodding into his skin. "Yeah, Baba. Who else would it be?"

This new state of affairs tossed him in an uneasy panic. He wondered briefly where Katara was before thinking of all the conversations he had practiced with Momo and Appa and the crazy squawking bird that had disappeared only yesterday.

"Oh God," he murmured instead. "Oh God."

He didn't know what to say now. Aang merely felt his stomach squishing inside of his body, like a huge, unstable porous sack. He touched the bridge of his nose and then looked down at the little girl again.

Or rather, _his_ little girl.

...This was his daughter.

_With all the love I am capable of giving,_

_Katara, and your daughter, Kya Lynn._

_Your daughter, Kya Lynn._

_YOUR DAUGHTER, KYA LYNN._

He did not know how he knew, but he could tell that there was also something else...some other manifestation that he felt existed beneath the girl's head of wavy dark hair—inside her silver orbs which were starting to open up a little more at the surprise of finding him here.

Aang, still recovering from shock, pulled her into an anxious embrace and then held her at about arm's length. He looked at her, eyes trembling, face contorting into some unknown shape. He imagined the tips of his ears to be turning bright pink, and then one question stood isolated for him:

How could Lynnie possibly know who he was?

"Look at you," he started quietly, ignoring the question that lingered below his tongue. "Lynnie—you've got such pretty hair."

His voice was cracking. He was suddenly reminded of a distant recollection: Katara making fun of him about seven or eight years ago, when his voice box was still altering figure and adding distinctiveness to his sound. She had touched his Adam's Apple and told him to say, "And here I will be forever, with my dearest, most lovely Katara," about ten times—just to see it bob up and down, and probe at it gently with her hands. That was when voice cracking was cute. Now it was just bothersome and made him feel even more unsure than he already was.

Lynnie waited for him to continue.

"And your eyes," he whispered hoarsely, more to himself. "Your eyes...they look like—like storm clouds, Lynnie." He smiled broadly to himself and situated the child on his lap. "You've got eyes just like mine."

This seemed to please her, as she hugged her father again and returned loudly, "And you've got a great big arrow on your forehead!" Her eyes searched the living room quickly and turned back to him. She added in a hushed voice, "Can I get one like it, Baba?"

Baba.

_She calls you Baba, you know. Gran Gran told her to call you that. You probably think I'm lying, but I'm telling you the truth this time. _

To think—he was sitting with his daughter and having a conversation about getting a tattoo on her forehead. He was pulled away again—another recollection—of him and Katara sitting outside on a summer night, five years ago, and talking about what names they would like for their children—not necessarily the children they would make together, but for children in general. Katara had placed her head on his bare chest and listened to him breathe as they spoke. She said she would like to think of herself more as a strict mother, with bedtimes and house rules and things of the like. They had laughed at each other for even thinking about it—Katara only nineteen then and Aang still seventeen. She hadn't known that as she laughed and conversed with him, he was having thoughts related to child bearing rather than child raising.

"You like my tattoo, Lynnie?" he inquired, brushing his fingers over it. He showed her the back of his hands. "I have tattoos all over the place."

"Cool!"

At that very moment—as if on cue—Katara shuffled into the room noiselessly and looked to Lynnie, who bolted upright and ran to her mother, swinging her arms around her legs. Katara bent down and scooped the child into her arms. Aang noticed that her face was flushed.

"You've met already," she observed, looking at her daughter. "Lynnie darling, do you know who this is?"

Lynnie nodded and stated merrily, "It's Baba."

"And where were you just now, dearest?"

"In the healing lodge with Misses Toph Lady," Lynnie answered nonchalantly, playing with the buttons on her mother's robe. "I feel asleep, but when I woke up, Misses Toph Lady wasn't in there."

Katara put her down and poured tea for Lynnie and Aang, refusing to pour any for herself. She watched the Avatar from the corner of her eyes—her gaze wavering on him for prolonged periods of time as he and Lynnie chattered endlessly. A few times, Aang's eyes would glaze over with tears, and then he would tear himself away and look at something else as Lynnie spoke to him. But Katara felt it, and Katara knew. Lynnie's speech was becoming more articulate and defined—more foreign. A few times her eyes would spark with some restless form of energy, and then she would stop speaking and take a sip of her tea before continuing again.

"Not now," Katara murmured, so quietly that neither Aang nor her daughter noticed it. She felt that very same uneasy feeling inching its way around her stomach. This is what she had feared most of all. "Not now, Suki. Not now."

But Suki couldn't hear this silent prayer, as she was already crawling beneath Lynnie's skin, making her limbs twitch slightly with the effort. Katara recognized the symptoms and sighed desperately and rather loudly to herself.

Aang and Lynnie looked at her.

The Avatar asked with acute directness, "What is it?"

Lynnie's eyes were wide. "Mama?"

"It's nothing, dear," Katara promised, but her eyes were locked on Aang. "I forgot to tell you something," she stated, a little louder this time. "I think it's going to happen now. I mean—I hope it doesn't, but if it does...don't be surprised."

Aang looked both confused and anxious. He placed his glass down and made a face, turning his attention from Lynnie to Katara and then back to Lynnie again. "What do you mean?" he inquired desperately.

If only Katara could see how pained and angered he was at this! Her distance from him was overwhelming—it made him ache in ways he never thought he could. It was ironic, because he had imagined his meeting with Kya Lynn to be a cause for celebration. But having Katara in the room—speaking to him in this tone and with this detached quality—only made him sick. "Katara," he said again, "what do you mean?"

She shrugged and sighed tediously. "Lynnie, darling, why don't you show Baba your Appa doll?"

Something was stuffing the room with density; something large and ominous leaked into the walls of the igloo and swirled around near the hearth. They could see nothing, but they all felt it. Lynnie especially. Aang felt the soft presences he usually felt when visiting the Spirit World.

"I already showed it to him," the girl offered. "He said he got me a pink one, and he got me Earth Kingdom chocolates—although, I've never really been fond of Earth Kingdom chocolates. Water Tribes do it better, in my opinion."

Aang's mouth hung open. He could barely utter, "What?", and when the rest of the words came out, they were watery and stammering. "Lynnie—what...what did you just say?"

"It's my own personal preference, Aang," she stated factually, her voice growing a octave deeper. "No reason to get upset. I mean, we had a chocolate factory on Kyoshi that went out of business because everything tasted terrible."

The stammering stopped when Aang realized he could barely bring himself to speak. In desperation, he looked at the girl's mother, who sat with her arms crossed and her face waxy. She touched Lynnie's shoulder from behind and glanced at Aang curiously.

Lynnie's eyes were wider now. Her small body trembled with some unknown force that had stopped spiraling around the room, as it had found refuge in the girl's body. "Katara," she started, her hands shaking, "you haven't told Aang, have you?"

"You picked the most ridiculous time to show up," Katara returned bitterly. Her voice was metallic and fierce—it pinched the air in the igloo and struck Aang's ear like a sharpened sword. Things had changed in the years he had been gone. Too many things for him to keep track of.

"This is _my_ body and _I'm_ entitled to it," the child replied, trying in vain to get Lynnie to stand. Instead, the body flopped down on the floor again, and then rolled to its side and sat up. "I was killed in my prime, Katara. You have to have some sort of sympathy for that."

Katara was ignoring Aang completely. Her eyes were full of a smoky rage that erupted rather suddenly. She held Lynnie's shoulders, staring through the child at best, ignoring the feeling of being watched. "This isn't the time," she hissed crossly. "Her father's come back and you greet him with this?"

"Let me go!"

"No!" Katara picked the girl up again, and then—to Aang's horror—Lynnie began kicking wildly. Her mother fastened her on the low couches and held her legs down. "Things are confusing enough," Katara muttered. "The last thing I need is to see this happening to my daughter again." Her mouth was pressed in a thin line. "Get out," Katara ordered. "Get out _now_."

Lynnie's body crossed its arms and tried standing up again, but this time the effort was blocked by Katara's grasp. She stopped resisting and sat still. "I want to see Sokka," the deep voice demanded. Lynnie's eyes were silvery and bright, as if filled with a great, terrible knowledge. "That's all," she promised vaguely. "He needs to see me. I need to talk to him. Just let me see him one more time."

"This isn't about you," Katara spat back, completely oblivious to the horrified look and the stammering pouring out of Aang's mouth some feet away. "This is about me and Aang and Lynnie. You can come back some other time, Suki. When things have worked out."

"You're being selfish!"

"Well—you're being impossible."

Indeed, under any other circumstances, this would have been a normal mother-daughter conversation.

The Avatar—though young—wasn't a complete idiot. He caught on to what was happening quickly enough and did the math in his head. Four years ago, Suki had been murdered. Four years ago, Kya Lynn had been conceived. And four years ago, a marriage had been cut drastically short because of a certain resistance.

"Let her see Sokka again," Aang demanded wisely from his spot. Katara turned to him, eyes reddened, and started to say something before Aang interrupted, "She isn't going to be able to come back like this forever, Katara. Lynnie's nearly five years old. That's when these sort of things stop forever." He looked at Lynnie, who was smiling at him in full gratitude. "Just because _we_ haven't worked things out yet doesn't mean Sokka and Suki shouldn't get a chance."

The healer wore an unsteady expression of guilt and shame. She had yet to tell Sokka of Lynnie's past life. After all, Katara liked to forget that Lynnie had parts of other people swimming around inside of her. She liked to forget the state of affairs that made them this isolated and this confused in the first place.

"I heard everything," Sokka's voice said from the doorway. He was dressed, which led them to believe that he had been up for a short while. He stood in the doorway of his grandmother's room with his hands in his pockets, watching Katara's expression move from place to place. Aang no longer existed—Toph, in his room, sleeping on his mattress, no longer existed either—and Katara...he could have strangled her right then for not telling him.

When he approached he felt a strange sensation fill him, and before they said anything, Aang noticed Katara stand up and walk quickly to the kitchen, where she buried her face in her hands and sobbed quietly to herself.

She had felt it too—the sensation—the love Sokka and Suki had held for one another that had went beyond sex and lust and physical aspects. The love that translated into reincarnates. Love that lasted always—through the war, and through the assassinations, and through death. She didn't look up when she felt Aang's hand on her shoulder. She instead felt something breaking inside of her: something exhausted and ominous and gray that had been accumulating over time.

And while parts of her wanted to go back in and see what Sokka was saying to Suki, another part wanted to ask Aang what had happened between them. Why they were broken. What had shattered things and left them stranded this way.

And still another part wanted to ask him, more than anything else, why he had left her those four years and refused to return to her, as—though she hated to admit it—her distance from Lynnie, and from the tribe, and from Gran Gran, was perhaps an outcome of her waiting too long.

She had always complimented him in the most perfect ways. But Katara couldn't lie to herself and say that she hadn't always looked up to him. In the dark kitchen, with his presence there, she felt like a shell. Externally beautiful, but empty on the inside. Waiting for something worth meaning to fill it so that it could get back to more important things—like raising a daughter, or mourning a grandmother, or living and breathing and loving again.


	13. Sokka and Suki

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary:**"Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note: **There is no way I can express to you how much I appreciated the various private messages sent to me in regards to this fiction. I apologize gravely for the wait and—in an effort not to bore you all with my silly little life problems—give this chapter openly and proclaim in plain view that I am already working on the next one.

This chapter is admittedly much shorter than the other twelve.

-scorpiaux

* * *

.13.

Sokka sat cross-legged in front of Kya Lynn and smiled at her. But he stumbled back when the girl pounced on him and hugged his shoulders and neck tightly, greeting him with a warm, slow kiss on the cheek.

But she caught herself and then remembered, pulling away from him with a brush of pink over her face. She laughed awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

"Sorry, Sokka," she began, voice cracking and face just barely regaining color. "It's just that...it's just...really good to see you again."

"I've missed you," Sokka replied, holding her at arm's length. He searched her eyes suddenly, realizing that they had fallen into a bright silvery color—much brighter than before. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked in reference to her reincarnation. "When we were on Black Crane's Rock a few days ago?"

Lynnie's shoulders shrugged and then she took to fixing Sokka's collar, pulling it upward towards his ears. "I've been busy," she said. "I've learned a few things. There are facts you need to hear about before Kya Lynn takes over completely."

Sokka's voice was tight. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," the girl informed, still fussing with the collar, "that I've found some information that may prove itself useful to us." She looked up at him, heart heavy, and sighed in a distressed manner to herself. "This is going to sound bad," she warned. "But I can't mince words right now, Sokka." Her expression was distant. When the words came out again, they were slow and thought-provoking. "I want revenge. I've been thinking about it ever since I woke up here. Who would have imagined? Katara—my mother! Or Lynnie's mother." She shook her head. "For a long time, I couldn't say anything to her. I kept phasing in and out of the Spirit World. It was disgusting..." Lynnie trailed off and shrugged again. "I always knew life wasn't fair. But it hurts...because death isn't fair either."

"I know it isn't."

"I loved you," she said on impulse with a sad, vague smile. "I loved you more than anyone I had ever met. But that was my last life cycle—to see you. To know you." She sighed inwardly once more and bit her lower lip. "Each cycle we see something new. We learn something...But I loved you so much, Sokka."

"I know you did," he replied, trying to cope with the fact that his four-year-old niece was the messenger. "I loved you, too, Suki. I still do." He hesitated. "...I always will."

"No," Lynnie muttered. "No, Sokka. Please don't say that."

He was taken aback at this, but said nothing.

"That was my last cycle," she clarified. "When I was Suki from Kyoshi. Now I'm Kya Lynn from the Southern Water Tribe."

"What are you saying?" he asked blatantly, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Lynnie stood up and pointed to Sokka's chest. "You can't keep loving me. It won't be worth anything." Then she sat on her knees, smoothing the cloth over Lynnie's small, thin thighs. "You have Toph now," she reminded. "And it's time we both forgot, Sokka. It's time to put this all behind us."

Her words angered him. Sokka's blue eyes flashed in her direction, catching her gaze and holding it with his. His fists tightened. "Toph _won't_ replace you," he said, but it sounded empty and frightened—as if the anger he was feeling meant nothing. He put his hands on her shoulders and faced her. "For God's sake! How can you even think that? Do you think I can just—just..._leave _you? Just forget?! I'm not that heartless!" He fought to regain control of his tone. "Suki," he mumbled, "how could you?"

"You aren't being realistic" Lynnie commented in response to this. Sokka noticed that her voice was growing higher, pushing between Kya Lynn and Suki. The girl stared at him, fiercer this time, and stated factually, "I'm not saying Toph has to _replace_ me. Just that she's _here_for you now. She's available. She needs someone and so do you, and I'm fond of her, Sokka. I always was." Lynnie paused and then stated, as if remembering something, "And _please_ don't give me that shit about being heartless!" She shook off her uncle's hands and stood up abruptly. "If you had anything inside you at _all_, Sokka, than you would have prevented this from happening." She held her arms out and gestured about the living room of Katara's igloo, which was just as barren as it was four years ago. "Look at this place!" Suki's deep voice demanded. "Look what you've done to your sister, Sokka! Look at what you did to _me_." The little girl pointed to herself. "Kya Lynn—from the Southern Water Tribe—this next cycle—didn't know her father for the first _four_ years of her life because of you! Because you couldn't forgive."

Sokka's eyes narrowed when he turned his face. This admittance bothered him. For once in a very extended period of time, he wished that he was deaf and blind and mute—unable to see what the world had thrown at him.

"Lynnie wasn't able to _bend_all this time, Sokka, because she was haunted with the tormented reincarnate of a non-bender! Haunted because—instead of trying to do something about the damn bastards who killed me and your father—you gave up and pouted! You should have taken action! You were supposed to be the leader—you should have _done_ something."

"What was I supposed to do?" Sokka screeched crossly, fighting the urge to tear up. "Two of the most important people in my life were _killed_. I couldn't face them!" He threw his arms into the air, gesturing with his hands. "I couldn't even think clearly!" he exclaimed. "Things were happening too fast—I...I could have...I should have—I..." He bit his lip miserably and looked up, using the only technique he knew to prevent himself from crying. His niece recognized this deliberate motion almost immediately.

Lynnie rubbed her eyes and said, at a much softer volume, "I'm sorry," though she knew she didn't need to apologize. But in this, they both new, was a new chance. A different set of actions that would provide a more acute outcome. Lynnie looked at the man before her and blinked. "You can still avenge me," she started. "And Chief Hakoda."

Sokka had fallen in on himself, knees up with elbows resting on top of them, head down. She heard him choke back a sob before he looked up and wiped his face and asked desperately, "How?"

She touched his shoulder; her hand felt dense and cold—heavier than it should have been. "There were two," she said, ignoring the confused expression on his face. "I've gained insight since then. I thought they were men, but they weren't. One man, one woman. The woman was still young and he had pressured her into doing it. She was the one who cut your father's neck." Her voice was shaking. She looked at her shoes and continued hurriedly, before the urge to converse wore away, "The man...caught me off guard."

Sokka also diverted his gaze angrily. He mumbled a string of curses and swears that went on indecipherable.

"Sokka," the girl answered quickly, "I don't have much time. Just listen to me." Since her voice was fading, she moved close to his ear and whispered with some difficulty, "This is impartial," she began. "Look for an orb and a line. They are still planning something, because we are together now. Or rather...you guys are together now." Lynnie grimaced suddenly and sighed, touching the fabric over her stomach, as if a sharp pain had struck her there. "Not much time," she pressed. "Katara and Aang both know who I'm talking about—Agh! God...this—this is starting to hurt."

"What can I do?" Sokka asked, once again out of desperation.

"Forget it," she said. "Forget about me."

"Suki?" The warrior's voice was overstrung. "Suki—Suki, talk to me!" He shook the child again, harder than before. "Suki! Don't leave me yet. _Please_. Suki!"

But when he looked at Lynnie again and held her shoulders in his fists, the silvery tint in her eyes had brushed into a dull gray. Her expression was visibly slackened.

And the igloo, in the medium-sized expanse, underneath the dome that Katara had bended to protect herself and her daughter from the gossiping women of the tribe, seemed to empty out. The chill returned and blew fiercely on Sokka's face. Lynnie, meanwhile, in her uncle's grasp, blinked a few times and then asked her Uncle Sokka if he could please pass her the tea cup that was half full. She was thirsty and hungry and told Sokka she'd like some fish for breakfast.

"Fish?" the warrior asked, searching the child's face desperately. "But—you were just...I was just...we...were..." Sokka made a face. "Suki?"

"What's a Suki?" Lynnie asked innocently. She wiped her running nose on her sleeve and looked up at him. "I need a tissue," she said, wiping her nose again.

It had ended just as quickly as it had began, forcing them both to remember the things in this reality. Sokka was curious as to what he needed to do now, and Lynnie was curious as to what her uncle was about to do. For a short time, they said nothing to each other, and settled in this quiet understanding of things beyond their comprehension.

"Right," her uncle murmured finality. "...Uh, don't do that...with your sleeve." He revealed an embroidered handkerchief from his front coat pocket and pulled at Lynnie's nose awkwardly, making a face when the cloth returned to him wet.

"Thanks!" the child exclaimed, sniffling. Then she looked about the igloo and back to her uncle again, noticing a red tint in his eyes. She cocked her small head to one side, sending the two braids to single shoulder. "Uncle Sokka," she stated quietly, "are you okay?"

He pressed his hand over the bridge of his nose. The low couch they were seated on suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable. "I'm fine," he calmed. "But it looks like you're getting sick, Lynnie. I'll tell Katara to make you something warm to drink." He swirled the remaining tea in Lynnie's glass and looked up at her again. "This is cold," he observed.

"I'm not sick!" Lynnie protested, taking the handkerchief from her uncle and blowing into it again. She blinked a few times and inhaled deeply, as if about to sneeze, before wiggling her nose and trying to stop it.

Sokka put his finger under her nose to aid in the effort. But Lynnie sneezed regardless—sneezed to her full extent, sneezed as loudly as Sokka had yet to hear from her small, delicate frame.

When he opened his eyes, he was plagued with two images.

The first—a recollection—of a boy he met ten years ago, who had sneezed in a similar manner and sent himself flying.

The next image of a large hole in his sister's abode, right in front of him—his clothes blown to one side, his hair yanked out of its makeshift binding, and Lynnie...Lynnie wiggling her nose outside, as he saw her there, through the very hole in the igloo, sitting in a pile of snow, laughing like a small and mischievous imp.


	14. Gran Gran and Katara

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary:**"Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's note:**I wanted to add more about Katara and Aang's situation chapters ago, but decided against it. Now seemed like the perfect time! I hope you all enjoy, as usual, and feel free to give me your thoughts on this slightly newer style.

Yay—reference to Chapter One—w00t!

Much love,

-scorpiaux

* * *

.14.

"Hey," said an unnamed male child, "it's Kya Lynn! She just flew out of her house!" Temporarily forgetting the bison thingy that had graced their presence only hours ago, the boy ran up to Lynnie and helped her to her feet.

"Wow," said Lynnie, giggling.

"That was so sick!" the boy replied. "You gotta teach me, Kya Lynn!" He looked at the hole in Lynnie's home—a large, jagged formation roughly shaped in Lynnie's image. His eyes traced the trail that the girl had formed in the snow. "So sick!" he repeated in disbelief.

By this point in time, Katara had appeared in the newly formed opening. She ducked underneath and ran to the collecting group of village children as quickly as she could.

To say that there was pure shock on the healer's face would be an understatement unworthy of description. Lynnie had never seen such an expression in her mother's eyes before, and the sight made the child laugh even louder as more villagers gathered around them.

"Mama, did you see me?" Kya Lynn inquired, wiping her nose again. "I exploded!"

Katara's brows knitted together. She sat next to her daughter and looked at the trail of snow, grimacing, wondering how Lynnie wasn't crying out in pain. The side of the igloo nearly had the stability of brick. "You did," she stated quietly, lifting loose strands of Lynnie's brown hair away from her face. "What happened?"

"I exploded," the girl repeated, louder this time, as if emphasizing the fact.

Katara shook her head and smiled a little. "No, darling," she clarified. "What made you...'explode'?"

As if to answer this question, a clear dribble of mucus slid of the child's nose. And Katara—who was a prepared mother, if not a good one—quickly unleashed a handkerchief and cleaned the offended area off. But it was proof, Katara thought, that Lynnie had sneezed.

So the thought grew, and—quickly enough, or so it seemed—Katara pieced a recollection together with this sudden, recent occurrence.

* * *

After everything is said and done and over with, they lay on opposite ends of the bed, side by side, staring at the ceiling of a hotel room that is surprisingly well kept.

She pushes the heels of her hands into her eye sockets and blinks a few times, trying to let the stimulation process. In a short thirty minutes she has given herself to him. The sheets are rumpled in thick, wet creases beneath her thighs. She feels a rush of blood pounding into her head.

He turns to her, and in that very moment, she feels ashamed to look back at him. Something about this feels ominous and romantic. But there is also a shallow dread that is building inside of her...a smooth shell of being that she can already predict.

"Do you think..."

He turns to her voice.

"Aang...do you..."

"Do I think what?" he asks, stretching his arms over his head.

But she doesn't finish the sentence. Instead she looks through the slits formed between her fingers and turns to her side, facing him.

"If we were to have children—" she starts instead. But his facial expression drops immediately, and then she changes her choice of words.

"I mean," she begins again, "not...not right _now_ but...in the future, if we were to—to start a family..." She closes her eyes. "What kind of benders would they be?"

And he knows what she wants him to say—what she wants to hear—that they'd all be girls and look just like her and have her amazing waterbending ability. But for some reason he feels oddly sure about the fact that their first child will be a male airbender, and he tells her this with a contented, boyish grin.

"We'll name him Gyatso," he says, because she has been expecting that sentiment, too. He laughs a little. "He'll have your eyes, Katara."

In that moment, her stomach tightens in obscure knots—she leaves a mass of bloodied and crumpled sheets for the bathroom, where she leans over the sink, looks at her young, naked figure in the mirror, covers her mouth, and releases a strained chain of muffled exclamations—things she only wished she could have asked him.

"Do you think I'm pregnant?"

"Do you think it would have happened this quickly?"

"...What if it's not a boy?"

* * *

"Katara," says a hoarse voice. In the dimness of the healing lodge, Katara can only make out phased outlines. But she knows—without looking, even—that this is her grandmother speaking to her.

She looks up to find a shadow holding a smaller shadow.

"Wake up, Katara," Kana urges. "The baby needs to eat."

In the first few minutes of refusal from exhaustion, Katara finally decides to have a look at what she's created. When the child first drinks, Katara smiles. But it is a quick smile that melts over to a disappointed frown—remembering, perhaps, that she didn't create this by herself.

"You are a mother now," Kana emphasizes, as if Katara didn't already now this. But there is a warning tone in the older woman's voice. "You have to learn what I teach you. You have to take care of this girl." Katara looks up with baggy eyes. "You have to be a good mother, Katara, no matter what."

"I understand, Gran Gran," says the healer. And Kana smiles and nods to herself even though she knows that understanding isn't nearly the same as agreeing.

* * *

It would be a lie to say that it didn't bother Katara when Lynnie's first word was "Graga," which Gran Gran took to mean "Gran Gran." Now the child is two years old—it is long after the first word—and still Katara looks at her grandmother with an envious flare in her eyes. She is sewing Lynnie an air bison doll.

"I don't know why you're doing that," Katara admits, drying out the inside of a tea kettle with a piece of cloth. "Lynnie's never seen a sky bison before. She won't know what it is."

"I've told her about them," the woman answers simply. She reaches for a button and continues sewing. "I know you think this will remind her of her father," Gran Gran states wisely, "but, it shouldn't bother you. Her father was a good man."

"Don't talk about him like he's dead," the healer warns, leaning over the kitchen sink now. "He isn't dead, for God's sake."

"I never said he was."

Katara looks disappointedly at her reflection in the kettle.

"I said he was a good man. Maybe he isn't now. Who am I to know?"

"I'm sick of you telling her things," Katara replies in a fierce whisper, picking up a wet ceramic plate. "She doesn't need to know about Aang. She doesn't need to hear about her father."

Gran Gran reaches for her leather bag of feathers and begins stuffing the sewed outline of skin, as if deaf to Katara's worries and arguments. She is old and tired and—regardless of what Katara thinks—she simply knows better.

"Why is that?"

"I don't want her to know, Grandmother," Katara continues, using a formal name instead of an endearing one. "She's a non-bender. She's plain. She doesn't need to know that her father was the Avatar."

"Don't talk about him like he's dead," says Gran Gran, raising a brow.

Katara dries the plate with a new found energy, ignoring this.

She scoffs shamelessly,"But I don't expect you to understand. Lynnie loves you!" Her tone is bitter. "You just make her love you more everyday. You make her things...tell her stories...give her the crazy hope that—ha! Maybe someday, she will be a bender. So of course, you don't mind what bothers me. You have my daughter lined up as one of your own.

"And to think," Katara finishes, shaking now, "that I was ashamed to return home with a child and without a husband. If I had known you'd take to Lynnie this nicely, I would've had premarital sex ages ago."

She doesn't expect the ceramic plate to drop, but—like most things in her life—it betrays her and falls a full three feet to the ground, shattering. Katara starts crying uncontrollably. But Kana is helpless to help her. Their problems are too deep to mend now. There is a hatred that has been bred between them. And Kana wishes dearly—wishes more than anything in the world—that Katara would love Kya Lynn the same way Kana loved her own daughter, and her daughter's daughter, and now, her daughter's daughter's daughter.

Kya Lynn walks in at this moment to the sounds of her mother wailing in the kitchen. When Katara hears her soft steps, she tries very hard to stop herself.

"Ma," says Lynnie remorsefully, handing her mother a wooden block. "So cry?"

"It's okay," replies Katara. Lynnie has recently acquired the ability to add "so" to everything she says—her complete vocabulary of some forty plus words. "Mama's okay, Lynnie darling. I've just caught a cold. I'm sick."

"So stiff," agrees the child, frowning when Katara completely ignores her offering of wooden block.

"Sick, darling. Not 'stiff.'"

Gran Gran watches from the sitting room, shaking her head, wiping away a few tears of her own. She is under the impression that she won't be able to protect Kya Lynn from Katara forever.

* * *

Aang and Sokka joined the crowd in utter disbelief, Sokka trying in vain to pull his hair back into its binding. Katara seemed to be thinking more to herself, but suddenly, their presence there pulled her out of her recollections. She scooped Lynnie up and away from the village children and looked at Aang with a brilliant light in her eyes.

"She's an airbender," Katara stated, and the word "airbender" never tasted so good on her lips. Aang could tell, because there was a new air about the healer—one of surprise and hopefulness. "You're an airbender, now, Lynnie darling," she said to the girl in her arms, rubbing Lynnie's nose against her own.

"Really?" returned Lynnie quietly, looking up to the expectant eyes of her father. "Is that true, Baba?"

"Yes," said Aang immediately, surprised that she was looking for his opinion.

Lynnie wiggled her nose and sighed outwardly, as if relieved of a burden.

Koko—the next top healer after Katara—stood behind the family with a slanted grimace and a muddled disposition. "An airbender," she said nasally, loud enough for Katara to hear her. "She'll learn to blow wind, then, just like her father." A few village women laughed at the statement; Katara turned anxiously to them.

"She'll learn to dodge and hide when the world needs her most!" another woman stated, smirking from the corner of her mouth. Encouraged by laughter, the same woman continued, "And she'll leave, if she ever realizes she may be with child!"

"What will happen when she burps?" asked another village gossip, giggling like mad.

Koko shook her head. "Fickle and windy—_just_ like her father."

Perhaps in that instant, had Lynnie not been in her mother's arms, Katara would have turned around and severed their heads off of their necks. But she couldn't process what they were saying quickly enough. All of these insults...they were familiar. She had heard them before. Yet every time someone mentioned her bastard child, Katara felt as if the wounds were sliced afresh, leaving said wounds open to the salty spit of the serpents surrounding her.

"You've got a lot of nerve," Toph's voice returned before Katara could put her next move together. Heads turned in unison to find that Toph, also, was heading out of Lynnie's makeshift doorway. The young earthbender sauntered up to Koko and pointed to her chest. "Jealous that Katara gets all the Avatar's love? Because, by my age standards, you're pretty much considered an old hag by now—a hag who never married because she couldn't find someone dumb enough to take her shit."

"Ouch," exclaimed a bystander.

"Hmph," snapped Koko evenly, shrugging this off. "You forget that our beloved Katara never married either."

Had the village paid attention, they would have noticed that Koko's comments had brightened Katara's face. Her cheeks burned with an embarrassment that had existed between her and her village—between her and Gran Gran.

"Women your age should learn to hold their tongue in the presence of important people," Toph continued shamelessly, crossing her arms. "Whether its the Avatar or the daughter of Lao Bei Fong. Married or not, Katara is twice the wife you'd ever be. And twice the mother, too. And ten times the healer!"

"Toph," Katara interrupted, "this is really unnecess—"

"This woman," Toph insisted, pointing to Koko, "is nothing but a selfish, inconsiderate, disgusting—"

"Toph—"

"—lame excuse for a human being! Her comments are perfect examples of her jealousy towards Katara." The same village women who had laughed and commented before now looked about themselves, questioning Toph's motives. Koko's eyes flashed in Sokka's direction, expecting him to do something. But Sokka was pleased with the outcome of Toph's accusations so far, and so he simply watched from a reasonable distance, grinning to himself

"This _should_be a moment of celebration," Toph finished loudly, nearly spitting out the words. "Katara's waited forever for this, and so has Lynnie." She turned to the congregation. "One of your own has finally been realized as a bender! And all you can do is stand around and make bad airbending jokes? So _what _if Katara and Aang aren't married? So _what_?!"

Koko, with a look of pure disgust and anger on her face, looked at Lynnie through the corner of her eyes. Lynnie nuzzled deeper into Katara's neck. Koko turned to leave, but stated, upon turning her back to the crowd, "Katara knows very well what she's done."

And Katara, gaze downcast, pulled Lynnie closer to her. They walked silently back to their igloo. The hole was repaired in a matter of seconds—quickly and fiercely, closing the family secrets away from the nosy, inappropriate villagers.

That night, the silence in Katara's abode was unbearable. Aang couldn't think of what to say. Toph, self-justified and feeling much better than she had been in years, felt the need to play with Kya Lynn and all of the new toys Aang had brought. Sokka sat in the kitchen and drank pot after pot of tea. Katara slept in her grandmother's room and looked out the window.

She remembered the night Gran Gran had passed away. She remembered her inability to cry. It was only then that Katara—lying flat on Gran Gran's bed—felt a scroll of some sort hidden away underneath the pillow. She pulled it out and unrolled it.

It was written there, in fine, shaky black strokes: _I have become a terrible, lonely, disgusted person. I see the world through a thick dark film. My Gran Gran is gone forever, my daughter is falling apart, and it's all my fault._

Never had her words rang with such a haunting truth. Never had her emotions built up in such a way. Katara made the conscious effort to press the heels of her hands into her eye sockets and blink. It was out now. Her shame—her Gran Gran's shame—her daughter's shame—all of it...everything melted behind her eyelids. Lynnie was an airbender who looked exactly like Aang. Katara had slept with the Avatar before marrying him. The whole village knew. And now...now? Well, in Katara's eyes, nothing else mattered now. The disgust—in Lynnie's terms—had "exploded," and left only shattered ceramic remains in the aftermath.

The leather flap that acted as Gran Gran's door shuffled uneasily. Katara saw the tips of Aang's boots underneath.

She hid her head in the pillow.

"Can I come in?" he asked, his voice sounding out of place. "...Katara?"

"Yes, come in."

He hesitated, rocking his weight back on his heels. "Okay. Are you sure?"

"Yes. Come in, Aang." She sat up and waited for him. When he walked through the doorway, his frame made the room seem smaller than it already seemed to be. He looked at the scroll and then turned the other way when Katara rolled it up and put it back under the pillow. Aang placed his hands in his pockets.

"Come sit next to me," she offered unsurely, gesturing towards Gran Gran's mattress.

He obeyed, looking from wall to wall. "Are you okay?" he asked, staring at her with an acute blankness.

"Yes," she stated immediately. "Yes. I'm perfectly alright."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she repeated, bothered.

Aang threw his hand through his hair and sighed. "I know what you're feeling right now, Katara," he added. "I just...know."

"Of course you know," she said, faking a smile. "I just told you that I'm perfectly alright."

He made a face. She leaned forward then and—to both their surprise—kissed him gently against his mouth. But it was merely a weak effort to prove to him that she was feeling okay, and it failed miserably.

"I'm sorry," he said, moving his tongue around in his mouth, staring deeply at her. "I know that apologies fix nothing. But...the marsh..."

"The marsh fixes nothing, either" she returned with a noticeable air of bitterness. But then she pressed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and—to avoid making the mistake again—she looked up at him and smiled sadly.

He could tell in an instant that this was Old Katara, who wrote her emotions on her sleeves and lived for the moment. He could tell because he felt she had nothing to hide form him now, and her sentiments on this matter were displayed very obviously to him today. Katara was glad that Lynnie was an airbender. Aang was glad too. And it was this coming together of mother and father that reminded them of their Old Love, symbolized so perfectly in Kya Lynn.

"Do you think," she started now, touching his hands, "that I'm pregnant, after the marsh?" His eyes widened, but she continued. "I mean, would it happen this quickly, for a second time? And what if it's not a boy, Aang?"

"Katara—"

"You knew," she murmured sleepily, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. "What can I tell you? You knew. The moment we were there in that hotel room, looking at the ceiling...you knew. You could tell."

She kissed him again, only more realistically than the first time, and touched her hand to the side of his face. "You had the gender wrong, but not the bending. So you have to tell me this time, too. Because I can feel it, Aang. The second time I carry around something from you." She bit her lower lip and looked at the floor. They were both sitting cross-legged, facing one another on Gran Gran's low mattress. "And again," she continued, wiping her face with her free hand, "and again, for the second time...we still aren't married."

It was then the Avatar exposed a small, ornate box from the inside of his tunic.


	15. Aang and the Ladies

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary:** "Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Disclaimer:** Because I haven't been doing these...Eh... Avatar isn't mine (and yes, the "eh" was completely necessary).

**Author's note: **Rule of Life Number pi/3: It's so hard to write romance when you're dealing with miserable little boys who disgust you. (No offense to my precious, handsome Male readers!) Yet, Lady readers, I'm sick of breeding stalkers. And I'm sure more than half of you know what I mean.

ANYWAY! There's a lot of adult content in his chapter, and I apologize in advanced. But we all need to remember that Aang is only about 22 at the moment here, and when he left Katara he was 18. So, during that time (ages 18, 19, 20, 21, and some of 22, too, for those who are mathematically challenged, such as myself). Katara needed to have some sort of effect on him. You'll know what I mean in about 7 minutes, depending on your reading speeds.

Another little cliff hanger, hanging from a cliff.

Much love for belated Valentines!

-scorpiaux

* * *

.15.

Aang's head was throbbing with a sleek uncertainty. His hands were shaking. When he tried to open the box, his fingers slipped with perspiration, and he wiped them on the fabric over his thighs distractedly.

Katara, meanwhile, watched him with patience, legs folded neatly over the mattress, with some lopsided expression that expressed contentment and distress.

"Katara," he started, his voice faltering.

* * *

Her presence on their travels made him think of sex, which bothered him because he already knew what they were both familiar with, and the very notion of intercourse was years out of the picture. But still Aang found himself thinking of it. A lot. Sometimes, much, _much_ more than necessary.

Honestly, he didn't really know _when_ he started the necklace project. In retrospect, he likes to tell himself that he started it on the day he woke up in her arms some years ago, completely oblivious to the new world around him and the new adventures that awaited him there. He saw her and the inspiration just struck like a match in a dry cave.

Even after the Avatar discounts, Aang still had to scrape up what he could to make the necklace memorable. The stone cost a good 480 some gold pieces, and the leather choker—made from actual cow-hippo hide—cost another 100 some pieces. And the carving tools were another sum of money on their own, as earthbending would only bring him blunt details here. Not to mention the bribes Sokka and Toph took to keep the project a secret.

He sits there now with a goofy grin and a chisel, indenting the splashes of water on the rim of his esteemed stone, when all of a sudden he hears Katara grunting to climb up on Appa's back. And his position—sitting there on the saddle with carving tools askew—makes him question his luck.

Without thinking, he throws a blanket over the project and pretends to be sleeping on it.

"Hey," she says, a little puzzled at the awkward shapes underneath the cloth. Her brows furrow in curiosity as she lifts the corner of the sheet. "Whatcha up to?"

He slaps her hand and then grabs it, as if preventing a murder from taking place. He answers, much louder than necessary, "NOTHING!" and turns his attention to her eyes.

Katara's irises look to be glowing in the red darkness of sunset. There is a fierce blue spark in them that beckons to him, calls him out, kisses him, caresses him, beats him, contorts him in any shape Katara fancies. And all of it squeezes into his head and empties him out—makes him think of absolutely nothing but her. Katara.

And sex.

"Okay," she laughs, about as naïve as a child in a war zone. "I just came up to check on you. You know. See what you're doing." She sits next to him and places her warm, confident fingers in his hands, making a face. "You seem a little jumpy tonight."

Aang laughs but, once more, it's loud and obnoxious. He coughs and falters on his words, then clears his throat and gins stupidly. Her gaze captures him again. "Your...eyes," he says instead. "Your eyes are so..."

She smiles.

"So..." A thousand adjectives run through his mind at that instant. Beautiful? Too cliché. Awe-inspiring? He'd sound like a dork. Wondrous? Well, maybe. Captivating? Yes! Captivating. Her eyes are absolutely _captivating_. He decides to go with this one.

But still, he can't ignore the first adjective that comes to mind. His mouth—an idiotic heap of bubbling hormones—utters the first adjective he thought of, instead of the nicer-sounding one. "So..._sexy_."

His voice resonates. He wonders if sunsets were always this silent.

Katara is taken aback by this new piece of information. Her expression shadows over curiously. Sexy? She had never heard him say it out loud with such a sureness. Of course, the notion was implied. Aang would have to think that she was sexy. She thought he was sexy, after all. And the feeling had a right to be mutual.

But...

"Sexy?"

He nods unsurely, touching the back of his neck in a small fit of anxious passion. His voice cracks when he repeats, "Uh, very—very...um—sexy."

"Yeah?"

Her eyes beckon to him again, glimmer in the dimness of the lighting, pull him in. "Yes," he answers, smirking. "Sexy."

* * *

Alcohol is a funny, fickle thing. Aang adored it for a little more than a week until he remembered that drinking was something Monk Gyatso wouldn't approve of. But now his love for fine wines returns momentarily, and he drinks Momo's weight in red Passion-Blossom Wine, imported all the way from the Fire Nation.

The woman that sits next to him is twirling around in her bar stool. There are men in the background. The band is playing music. Katara is somewhere miles away. So is Sokka. So is Toph. And Aang is sitting here under the pressure of knowing that he is responsible for the death of two innocent civilians. He hasn't shaved his head in months.

"Hey," says the woman, touching his shoulder. He is too drowsy to look up.

She pulls his face towards hers with perfectly manicured fingers. Katara never did her fingernails. They were always bitten to the skin, a little red, a little boyish. He loved them.

This woman's eyes are a dark color—black or brown, Aang can't tell. Everyone seems to be laughing. "You look lonely," she continues, running a finger through his hair. "Come on. I have a room upstairs."

"I'm fine," Aang mumbles grumpily, slapping her hands away from his long, dark hair. "Besides, I don't have any money."

His attitude changes after four more drinks. He calls the woman a whore and follows her up the stairs with a small box thumping against his thigh in his pants pocket.

It is too dark for the woman to see his arrow, and his hair was in the way, mostly. But when he takes off his shirt, she can spot the marks immediately. She gasps in horror and pulls her naked body away from him, covering herself with the sweat-stained blanket.

"You're the Avatar!" she screeches accusingly, pointing to him. "Why didn't you tell me? What's wrong with you?"

His tongue feels heavy. "What...do you mean?"

"You're the most powerful being in the universe!" Her eyes narrow. "You were trying to ...to _kill_ me! To seduce me and then do away with me! I can't believe you!"

"But...you..." Aang falls face first into the mattress before he can finish. The drunkenness consumes him—spits him into a torrent of sleep, washes into his bones. He thinks of Katara again.

The woman puts on her clothes when she sees him collapse. She looks at him pathetically. Then she sees the bulge in his pocket and walks over to it, reaching inside with the intention of taking whatever's there.

He feels her fingers. Something inside Aang snaps.

His voice is suddenly clear. "Don't touch that!" His eyes flash open and he grabs her hand. He throws her against the wall of the dingy room. He stands up. It's the first time in his life he has ever hurt a woman.

Later that night he looks at the small, ornate box in his hands and begins crying uncontrollably. A few men from the bar spot him sitting there on the curb and shake their heads in pity, wondering which girl it was, and when, and where, and why the Avatar is howling and moaning over a small, shiny piece of jewelry.

Mostly they wonder what happened to the whore named Ming Mei.

* * *

Aang finds himself compelled to write to her, so he does. Thirty perfect letters—but not a single one sent. Then he finds himself compelled to contact her, so he does. Rides Appa half way to the South Pole—but then vomits all over his belongings. He can't do it, so he turns back.

Then he finds himself compelled to sleep with her—not even just with her, with anyone, with anything. It's only natural. He is still young. But like the rest, he can't bring himself to do it. Countless women threw themselves at his feet: naked, half-clothed, needy, haughty, wanting, with the simple request, "_Take _me! I'm yours!". And he would undress himself sometimes. And he would unbuckle their frog buttons and kiss the expanse of their necks. But at the point of entry he would freeze and evade, and make up an excuse, and then vomit some more. It was during these months that Aang became very sick and lost a lot of weight, and gained the reputation of a sad, unexperienced boy when it came to adultery.

After a while the women would only mock him. He remembers a specific experience where a young woman—some twenty years old—had captured him alone on an estate balcony during a peace-keeping meeting. She was wearing a robe, and he was outside getting some fresh air. He learned later that she had been a councilman's wife.

Smalltalk turned into a laughing fit. "I'm sorry," she stated after thoroughly confusing him. "It's just...I've heard hilarious things about you, Avatar. It's not my place to sit here and recite them, but..."

"But what?"

He turned his face when she revealed her naked breasts to him, opening the robe at an angle, smirking. And he tried to walk away when she nearly placed her breast in his palm. But then she grabbed the back of his shoulder and apologized and explained her tearful story of how lonely she was and how she needed someone and how she adored his courage and bravery and how sorry she was and how embarrassed she felt and...

Aang stopped listening until she groped at his groin with her left hand.

Then he leaped back and pulled her fingers away, unfathomably disgusted. He asked crossly, throwing her hand back at her, "What on earth is _wrong_ with you?!"

"What's wrong with _you_?" she asked back, crossing her arms. "You have the world's women at your disposal, and yet all you can do is run around acting pious all the time."

"That's no excuse to grab me," Aang fused lazily for lack of a better comeback.

She shrugged and smirked again. "I was just checking," she said mischievously, as if talking to an idiot child, "to see if there was anything there."

* * *

"The days I spent without you were torture," he recalled grimly, looking into her as if she was the world's treasure. She could see the hurt in his eyes then, the sadness that had swallowed him. It upset her to unbelievable levels. "There was so much I lost then...so much I learned."

She looked down. "I know. I learned a lot too."

"You did?"

"Yes." She was watching the box in his hands—the designs on the sides, and the golden hinges in the back. She remembered it vaguely...Aang had bought it a long time ago, and when she had asked him what it was for, he had lied and said that it was for a woman beggar they had met earlier in the day. "To give her something nice," he had promised, sweating.

"Like what?" he prodded, because it only seemed fitting.

Katara shrugged and rubbed her upper arm anxiously, trying to think of the words to describe her lonely years here, away from him, and the pain of seeing Lynnie grow up with his gray, storm-cloud eyes, and her pale complexion, and her wit...and now, finally, the airbending. It was too much, Katara thought, to spill to Aang in Gran Gran's room at that exact moment. She shrugged again. "I don't know," she admitted. "When the...when the fight happened, with my dad...and Suki...I thought it was good if I left you. I thought it would be great to never see you again." She shook her head and laughed sadly a little bit, recollecting. "You know, Aang...I convinced myself that...if you were _gone—_away from me, forever—then I'd have other things to look forward to in life, besides death, and war, and the resistance."

Aang nodded with a grave, disrupted understanding, moving the box around in his palm.

"And I did!" she nearly shouted, making him jump back. "I had tons of stuff to look forward to! I mean, I had suitors coming left and right, and Gran Gran was doing fine raising Lynnie alone. I didn't have many friends, but I was a great top healer for a while, and I taught little kids how to waterbend, too. It was...nice."

Katara paused to take a breath. She noticed the hurt shade over his face—the darkness underneath his eyes from hearing her happiness while he was away.

"But that's it," she corrected, making him look up again. She pulled a strand of hair through her fingers and tinkered with it, avoiding eye contact. "It _was_ nice," she stated, "but it wasn't _perfect_. It wasn't beautiful. It wasn't..." She paused. "I don't know, '_awe-_inspiring,' or anything." Katara laughed a little at the sound of the word and rolled her shoulders back. "Kind of dorky, I know. But, you know what I mean. It wasn't wondrous or captivating or..."

He opened the box after she trailed off and smirked behind the lid. "It wasn't sexy, either," he said, snickering a little to himself, and the very essence of the word—the way it filled the room with a softer, freer air—made Katara laugh out loud until her ribs shook, and she called his name out with childish teasing.

"Aang!" she laughed. "Oh, goodness." And she wiped her cheek and opened her eyes from the fit.

Then she saw what the prized box had been holding the entire time.


	16. Lovers in Contrast

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary:** "Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note: **As always, keep me posted with your opinions. I thank the lot of you that have stayed with me so far. Honestly, without you, this story has no purpose. I write to be read! :)

* * *

.16.

It would be a lie to say that Katara wasn't expecting an engagement necklace. She could almost imagine it there in Aang's box—feel the grooves in the ivory, or the sapphire, or whatever other stone Aang had decided to use. But her face dropped when she realized that there wasn't an engagement necklace there at all.

Inside the ornate box Aang had needlessly purchased, there sat an elegant golden ring, inscribed with her name, his name, and another name that Katara had yet to decipher. The ring had a stone there in the center, gleaming back at her—sapphire, like her eyes. And then she noticed that the small golden loop was also bound by a golden chain, so that Katara could wear it like a necklace.

She was so surprised by this turn of events—and also by the quality of the ring and chain—that she covered her mount with her gloved hands and gasped a little.

"Do you like it?" he wanted to know, grinning in earnest.

"It's beautiful," Katara murmured, looking up at him. She watched him remove the ringed necklace from the small pillow. He opened the clamp and then motioned for her to turn around and lift her hair, and Katara did so willingly.

She felt the warmth of his fingers glide over the expanse of her bare neck as he fit the necklace into place, closing the clamp shut. Then he leaned forward and kissed the skin of her shoulders and the back side of her cheeks.

"I made you an engagement necklace," the Avatar continued, speaking more to himself. "It was crafted from the finest stone I could afford. I even bought leather." Katara felt flattered, knowing that it was against Aang's ideals to buy animal products, and yet that he had done so anyway to please her.

"I like this one just as much," Katara returned, holding the ring up to her eyes.

She didn't even bother to ask what had happened to the original just yet—she was too busy adoring Aang's cleverly disguised marriage proposal. When the ring was in proper light, she could read the third name. "Katara—Aang—Kya Lynn." The healer's heart happily leaped into her throat. She felt like laughing and dancing. Like crying. Screaming. Swimming. Anything to get the burning away from her chest—the overwhelming intensity of this new meaning. Soon she could call Aang her husband. Lynnie wouldn't hate her as much anymore. And Gran Gran!

Wherever Gran Gran was, she would be relaxed to know that Katara had finally listened to her tired old advice.

Katara said suddenly, "I love this."

"I'm glad you like it," Aang replied, encasing his arms around her stomach. But then his tone grew a pitch darker. "The engagement necklace was stolen from me shortly after Sokka's intended wedding." He paused suddenly and blinked a strand of Katara's hair out of his face. There was a hollowness in his words—a sort of lost strength. "The box was open," he continued, "but the necklace was gone."

Katara turned to him and pressed her lips against his mouth softly, as she had done so many times before in the past to settle him. "It's okay," she managed to whisper, brushing her lips over his. "It doesn't bother me." Aang felt his skin tighten with wakefulness. He returned her kiss without arguing.

When Katara broke away from him and turned her attention back to the ring, her face lightened with a curious thought. She looked at Aang suspiciously and wondered aloud, "Where did the idea come from?"

"For what? Marriage?"

Katara shook her head. "No, Aang. The ring. Why didn't you carve me another stone?"

"You didn't hear?" Aang asked teasingly. "That's the way they propose in the Fire Nation. They get some sort of metal and then a blacksmith or a jeweler makes them a ring. Must have something to do with the firebending and the melting of the metal, I suppose."

Katara laughed a little at the thought and moved the ring around in her palm, feeling its worth. "Isn't it a little ironic that you proposed with a cultural aspect from the very nation we were fighting to take down ten years ago?" she asked him, raising a brow.

"Oh, quiet!" He kissed her again, drunk with happiness. "You know you love it! You can't complain." And then he dodged his right hand to her side and struck her near the lower ribs—Katara's weakest tickling spot. She squealed and pushed his hand away, laughing with him. Somehow they managed to fall back on Gran Gran's mattress with contented sighs of relief and gratitude.

And the words rang in Aang's head, though he tried hard to ignore them.

_The sky falls in pieces. But when the world ends, it happens all at once_.

It caused him to shiver. With Katara so close to him, nuzzling her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder, he thought less of the misfortunes of the past and looked toward the happiness he would have in the future.

He pulled her hand up to his mouth then, and kissed it.

* * *

Lynnie sat, bored, combing the hair of another Little Miss Mai doll. This was Beach Bum Mai, who sported a full body bathing suit and a looming chest. She also had a paper umbrella that Lynnie found more useful—with her minimal airbending skills, she could make the umbrella jump from her palm into the air, almost touching the ceiling of the igloo.

The other gifts that her Baba had bestowed upon her were nice, but Lynnie was much more attentive to this new feeling in her arms and legs—this lightness. She felt almost as though she could fly, and wanted very dearly to try it, too. But her father and Katara had been out of sight now for a good hour, and she knew better than to go bothering Katara when she wasn't wanted.

"Misses Toph Lady," Lynnie asked from her place on the floor, "where are Mama and Baba?"

"Probably crying like babies about how unfortuante their life is," Toph replied, smirking. Sokka glared at her, but she didn't seem to notice. Lynnie remembered from a few nights before that Toph was blind. She wondered how Toph could move off of the couch and come to sit with Lynnie so accurately. It was as if this woman had super powers.

"What do you mean?" the girl asked. She sent the umbrella for another ride to the ceiling and watched it fall gracefully back to her hand. "Why would they be crying?"

"Don't be stupid, Lynnie," Toph replied with a certain rough gentleness that only she was capable of. "Katara and your Baba are fine. They're probably just tired because it's been a long day."

"Oh."

Toph touched the girl's shoulder. "Besides, now that you're an airbender, they can start figuring out what they're going to teach you, and how it's going to be."

Lynnie clapped with delight and picked up another Little Miss Mai doll—Chef Mai-Mai—and pumped some air from her wrist into the chef's hat, sending the paper accessory flying.

"I can't wait!" Lynnie admitted.

Toph grinned and pulled her knees to her chest. "You'll like being able to bend. And being an airbender is especially nice, because those are few and far between."

"So they're special?"

"Yeah," Toph finished. "You and your Baba are the only airbenders I know."

"Neat," Lynnie chirped.

Sokka, who had been standing at the window of the igloo for some time, came to join them. Toph turned her face away from him when he sat down next to her.

"You don't' have to learn about swords anymore," he joked darkly to his niece, perhaps recalling that fateful day on Black Crane's Rock where he and Lynnie had gotten to be better acquainted.

Lynnie was feeling both important and fairly democratic. "I can still learn swords," she reasoned wisely. "I can learn swords and keep learning maths from Pakku, and Baba can teach me airbending." She paused thoughtfully and added, "And Misses Toph Lady can teach me how to see without opening my eyes."

Toph grinned at this and ruffled Lynnie's hair, noting that it was the same texture as Katara's, and perhaps also the same color. But Sokka made a disturbed expression and asked Lynnie abruptly, "What will you learn from Katara, then, Lynnie?"

Kya Lynn knitted her brows together and reached for School-Day-Mai, removing her school bag and sending it for a ride. "What do you mean, Uncle?"

"You know," Sokka pressed, "Katara, my sister. Your mother. What have you learned from her so far?"

"Sokka—" Toph started.

Sokka ignored this. "Come on, Lynnie. Answer me. What do you think?"

Lynnie shrugged indifferently and grabbed her Fire Lady Mai doll, the most exquisite of the set. She ran her fingers over the doll's ink-black hair and her stiff, painted eyes. "I don't know," the child admitted, holding the doll up for Sokka to see. "Mama's like this Mai doll. Pretty and quiet."

Her uncle's questioning stopped there; he grunted in an unsatisfied manner and leaned back on the side of the hearth in the living chamber.

"What have you learned from your Gran Gran?" Toph asked, countering Sokka's line of inquisition, but also hoping to show him up. "She was closer to you than Katara was, right?"

Toph couldn't see it, but Sokka could—Lynnie's eyes seemed to spark with a dormant life. She smiled contentedly and crossed her arms, as if reciting a fact she had learned in school. "Gran Gran taught me about everything!" she proclaimed. And then added, a little saddened, but not completely depressed, "I miss her lots."

A shuffling the next room shook them from their conversation.

Lynnie ran to Aang when she saw him and Katara emerge from Gran Gran's bed chamber. Katara glanced at the child distractedly and announced the news to the congregation of people in the igloo: She and Aang were getting married.

She showed them the ring, and allowed Toph to inspect it—warning her against using her metalbending for any tricks. And then they all laughed and said that it was too bad Koko wasn't here to join them in the festivities. And Katara recited the things Aang had told her about firebenders and their rings. She slapped Aang's shoulder and said that it wasn't the Aang she knew—not the one she remembered, giving her this Fire Nation proposal. Aang told Sokka and Toph that his engagement necklace had been stolen, and then they all speculated that it very well could have been a poor thief down on his luck, or some star crossed child that had wondered into the hotel room looking for something shiny to play with.

For a short while, as Katara looked about her and observed her friends laughing and chattering happily—as she saw Lynnie cling to Aang's neck, not leaving him for a second—she felt as though nothing had happened to contaminate their past.

It was as if the murders had never existed at all. It relaxed her, but tensely so.

* * *

Late that night, thoughts of revenge struck Sokka like shooting stars, and landed firmly in his head, planting ideas.

_Look for a line and an orb_, Suki had told him. What did that mean? Since when were shapes inclusive in figuring out mysteries?

He lay awake in his cot and listened to Toph's uneven breathing. She had to bunk with him for the night since the healing lodge was off limits—her healing sessions were no longer a daily requirement. Plus, Koko hated her, and Koko spent most of her time in the healing lodge, and so this new sleeping arrangement was for the best.

She had her own cot and thin mattress, and her form moved up and down swiftly in the night, reflecting light shadows on the other end of the wall. Lynnie now had her own room—Gran Gran's old room—and the room that she and Katara had shared was now reserved for the engaged couple, who were—no doubt in Sokka's mind—happily making love at this hour.

He was secretly disgusted with his sister's choices in life, but his hadn't been any better, and he didn't feel like acting hypocritically towards her. He was happy for Katara now. Maybe one day, if Toph ever came to her senses, he would offer her an engagement necklace, and Katara could be happy for him.

"Toph," Sokka whispered loudly, supporting his weight on his elbow. "Toph! Hey—Toph. Toph, wake up."

She rustled around uneasily and then threw an extra pillow at him without turning around.

"I need to ask you something," he begged, dodging the projectile. "Come on. It'll only take a second."

"I was wrong to name you Snoozles all that time ago," she hissed crossly, sitting up and wiping her face. "Do you _ever_ sleep? Or are you just awake all the time?"

"I gotta admit that I enjoy watching you sleep," he teased with a sarcastic air, only this time when Toph threw the pillow, he wasn't able to dodge it fast enough.

She crossed her arms. "What is it?"

"Just a quick question," the warrior promised, also sitting up in the darkness and walking over to her side of the room.

"Shoot."

"Alright." Sokka sat down to her left. "The last chance I had to talk to Suki, she told me that I had to avenge her."

Toph nodded.

"And I'm going to—I mean, I have every intention. But I don't know where to start looking. The resistance isn't exactly organized, you know what I mean? So finding it and then pinpointing the killers is going to be near impossible."

"Okay," Toph grunted, unconvinced. "What do you want me to do about it? I know just as much about the resistance as you know—which isn't much, judging by how far we've gotten already in stopping them."

"Suki gave me a clue," Sokka answered. "Well, a few clues. First she said that it was a man and a woman, and that the woman was younger and that she had been sort of sucked into it.

"Next she said to look for an orb and a line—but that could mean just about anything." Annoyed, Sokka marked off the possibilities on his fingers. "It could mean a map, or it could refer to a part of the world, or it could be the shape of something, or it could just be nothing. I might just be imagining it!"

"Hmph," stated Toph.

"So what do you think?"

"Firstly, I think it was dumb of you to wake me up _this_ late for something _that_ stupid," the girl returned hotly. "Orb and Line probably refer to names."

Sokka made a face when Toph turned around to go back to bed. "What do you mean 'names'?"

The earthbender made another bothered nose from the back of her throat and flipped to her stomach, face turned to Sokka's side on the pillow. "You're an idiot. She told you that there were two people, then gave you two words. If they committed the crime together, then they probably wouldn't be living in separate parts of the word. And they wouldn't be shapes, either. It's important if she mentioned it to you."

Sokka was silent for a long time, contemplating this. In all honesty, he had yet to think of the Orb and the Line as names. In his mind the two shapes came together and formed a sunset shape—the orb was the sun and the line was the horizon. He had thought that maybe this meant he would have to search for them in the west, where the sun set. But could it also be the east, where the sun rose? Maybe this was also true, along with the names.

He had to admit that Toph was clever. She yawned audibly and stretched her legs out under the blankets. Unbeknown to her, that very motion gave Sokka thoughts that he would have rather done without.

"The point is to get to the core of the resistance and find people with names similar to those," Toph finished, yawning again. "And don't wake me up next time for something that dumb. Even Katara's unborn child could have figured that out."

Sokka laughed in a hushed manner. "Oh, please," he whispered back to her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean your sister's pregnant, Snoozles," Toph replied evenly from her spot, not turning to face him. But then she sat up and smirked deviously. "Hey! You don't even have to take my word for it!" She laughed and shrugged. "You'll be able to tell in another four months or so. She'll start showing like some inflated gourd."

"Toph, that's not funny," Sokka stated monotonously. "Katara can't have another child so quickly."

"I don't see why not," the other informed him, playing with her fingernails. "Lynnie's nearly five years old. And Twinkle Puff and Sugar Queen have both been extremely sex deprived without each other. What do you think they're probably doing right now? Why do you think I was moved into your room?" Toph laughed softly again, enjoying the fact that this was making Sokka uncomfortable. "Lynnie's new room is right to the side, so we can stop her if she wonders into the house at night, and happens to interrupt any activity. The healing lodge is too close to Katara's room. I would have heard things, like I did four years ago."

Sokka, who had crossed his arms over his chest in pent-up anger and awkwardness, looked at Toph with a sort of uniform rage. She hadn't changed at all, and neither had he. Even if Katara was 24 years old, and Aang 22, the thought of his baby sister _doing things_ upset him. He was happy for the marriage, yes. But not so much the activities.

"You're a creeper," he told Toph flatly. "I can almost assure you that they aren't doing anything."

"Ha!"

"Toph—stop it!"

"What do you _think_ they're doing?" she repeated. "Come on, Sokka. Tell me. Playing board games? Reciting prayers?"

"Fine! Fine!" His whispers were on the cusp of being too loud for comfort. "I get it! They're getting all of it, and we're not getting any. Is that the point you're making?"

Toph was suddenly quiet. She returned to her mattress without adding to his observation.

"Is that what you mean?" he asked her. Then he sported a laugh himself, and shook his head. "If I didn't know any better, Toph Bei Fong," he started coyly, "then I'd just say that maybe you were jealous."

Her voice exploded like a splitting rock. "What!"

"You heard me! You're jealous."

"Keep your voice down!" Toph hissed, crawling over to him and slapping a finger against his lips. "You're fucking loud, do you know that? And guess what else! You're also fucking out of your mind. Why would I be jealous of Katara? Or Twinkles?"

He didn't answer because he was rather fond of the position Toph had unwillingly bestowed upon him. She had borrowed one of Katara's sleeping gowns—a light blue shade that was plain but form-fitting. It was also a low cut V-neck, displaying a considerable portion of Toph's chest to him as she sat there, holding a warm finger to his mouth. And her knee, while she had crawled to him, had settled there above his thigh, and now rested near his stomach. Her other leg was nearly entirely exposed in the flimsy sleeping attire—white skin glowing against the blackness of the night.

"I hate you," Toph concluded. But then she moved her knee from above his thigh to between his legs, and pressed said knee gently into his groin. There was a supple weight there that made Sokka press his back against the wall he had been propped up against. The gown had risen. She was straddling his thigh.

"I hate you too," he said, reaching his hands to grab her lower back. Then he pulled her nearer to him and felt the contact of her breasts against his chest, nearing to kiss her. Toph stopped him by turning her face to the side and feeling for the frog buttons down the front side of his robe.

When she placed her open palms against his bare chest she mentioned, in a barely audible whisper, "You're just as jealous as I am."


	17. The Bathhouse

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Summary:** "Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.

**Author's Note**: Wow, guys (and girls!). 290 reviews. I'm touched. This is coming from a writer who seriously questions her talent every so often. But your feedback has really meant the world to me. And this story has come such a long way, thanks to your comments and constant input.

In this chapter, Beware the Ides of March!

I just called to say I love you. -scorpiaux

* * *

.17.

A small canoe pulled up to the margin of the marsh, against the northern docks in the Southern Water Tribe. A figure emerged and waded uneasily to shore. A second figure stayed in the boat, huddled over, drinking from a small glass.

Once the canoe had been parked appropriately, both figures walked to the middle of the marsh—close enough to one another so that they would be considered together. The night sky was pitch black and illuminated nothing but the glowing pools of spirit water.

A third figure awaited them at the center of the marsh—a plumper build, who was obviously a woman based on her size and shape. She held five scrolls in one hand and a dim lantern in the other.

Then the following conversation took place, although it was too dark to tell who was saying what, and what was happening, and in what order things were unfolding.

"You have the information?"

"Most of it."

"There is another one now?"

"Yes."

"And what happened to the third one?"

"Tell us."

"It's uncompleted."

"Why?"

"Let's leave. I'm cold."

"Wait. Why was it uncompleted?"

"Because something got in the way. It's not important."

A pause—some hesitations.

"Things...got better before they got worse."

"Well now what?"

"Please. I'm cold."

"I said wait. Tell me. What are we supposed to do now?"

There was a thick silence. It enveloped the marsh and the three figures. The shivering figure who was complaining of the temperature, the wide figure who could hardly feel a thing through the layers of fat, and then the only man of the three—a sturdy thing that stood unshaken. All three stood attentive as the plump woman spoke.

"The best thing to do would be to go after this. See where it leads."

"You wouldn't."

"No!" A ringing silence. "I don't like this—it's a bad idea. I want to leave. Come on. Let's go."

"I said wait!" The man took the five scrolls from the plump woman and opened the largest one. Inside there were roughly done sketches. He glanced over them and read the captions briefly.

A smile spread under his nose, as if he recognized something from long ago. And then he nodded and looked up. "The sky falls in pieces," he told the plump woman as he turned to his partner. "But when the world ends, it happens all at once."

The plump woman nodded at him, somewhat shamefaced, and held the lantern up to illuminate the man's face. All three of them looked terror-stricken.

And then the man grabbed the shivering, thin girl to his left, and they walked soundlessly to the canoe.

* * *

Katara was feeling more light-headed than usual.

When sunrise poured through her window, she was already awake and clean—hair tidy, face washed, teeth brushed, eyes wide open. And while Aang still lay on her mattress asleep—happily exhausted from the goings-on during the night—she felt no need to wake him. Instead she walked to the hearth and prepared a breakfast of Arctic Hen eggs and Zebra Seal meat.

Lynnie sauntered in undetected, and scared the wits out of her mother when she stated innocently, "I'm hungry." Katara jumped and spun around—holding a hand to her chest in shock—before she scooped Lynnie into her arms and kissed her flushed cheeks.

"Darling, you're going to give Mama a heart attack if you keep doing that," she stated softly, shifting Lynnie's weight in her left arm.

The child wrapped her arms around her mother's neck and breathed in, perhaps noticing the change in scent. Usually Katara smelled like salt. But now she smelled like some sort of damp plant. Lynnie found the change in smell—and in mood—to be a welcome one.

"You're happy today, Mama," the girl chirped fondly.

"Mhm."

Lynnie watched Katara fold an egg over with her wooden spoon. "Why?"

Katara giggled a little and kissed Lynnie's forehead. This sudden fondness for her daughter felt temporary and almost forced—but for some reason, Katara couldn't help it. Lynnie! Her Lynnie! An extension of Aang and herself...this was their love child. And at the moment, nothing seemed more romantic. More real—solid in the simple act of existing.

"Lynnie darling, how would you like to help Mama with breakfast?"

"Okay!"

"Alright." Katara put the girl down. "Go get Mama the bowl of salt from the counter. Be careful. Use a chair if you can't reach it."

Lynnie did as she was told, carrying the bowl proudly to her mother, grinning as broadly as she could.

"Now pinch your fingers like this, darling," Katara continued, squeezing her thumb and pointer finger. Lynnie did the same. "Very good. Pinch some salt into this egg. It wont taste good without it. Ah! There you are!"

Kissing her daughter for a third time, Katara dried off her hands and tussled Lynnie's hair. Her daughter giggled and recited merrily, with a distant glow in her eyes, "This reminds me of Gran Gran."

Katara's face glazed over. She added another slice of meat to the skillet and bit her lip. "Me too, Lynnie darling. This is exactly the way Gran Gran would have done it."

"Something smells good," Toph's voice observed from the doorway.

Toph, unlike Katara, was not prepared for the morning. Her hair was undone and all over, and her nightgown...Katara suddenly regretted letting Toph borrow it. It was crumpled and seemingly damp.

"There's a bathhouse across from the healing lodge," Katara commented, making a face. "I was about to take Lynnie there after breakfast, Toph. Maybe you should come with us?"

Toph grunted and took a seat without commenting. "There's someone at the door," she stated instead, and took a sip of Lynnie's tea.

Katara wondered how Toph was able to tell, with the South Pole being made of nothing but ice. But regardless, a few knocks did sound from the doorway, and Katara wiped her hands on a piece of cloth and left the hearth to check.

She was surprised to find the village mail carrier standing there, smiling.

"Top of the mornin', Miss Katara," he greeted, shuffling in his bag.

"Hello, Haruk."

He shuffled some more. "I've got a package for you," the man admitted.

"Oh?"

"Yes ma'am. From the Fire Nation, too! Who would have guessed?" He unleashed a small wooden crate and handed it to the waterbender. "It certainly is a good thing we're on good terms with Zuko, eh? Otherwise I'd take this package to be a threat to you and your family."

Haruk smiled, and Katara returned the gesture. She was always baffled with members of her tribe referring to Zuko only as "Zuko" and not "Fire Lord Zuko." But frankly, she had been guilty of the same thing. She did not think of Zuko as a powerful overlord...rather, an old friend.

Though she was certain that the first-name basis the village had grown accustomed to was merely due to lack of respect and mockery towards the Fire Nation.

"Thanks, Haruk," she replied, and handed him a single silver piece, returning to the hearth to find Sokka, Aang, Toph, and Lynnie already eating.

Sokka asked through a mouthful of eggs, "Oh! A package?" Then he licked his lips and dabbed his mouth with a towel, standing up. "For me? Who's it from? What's it say?"

"Sweet!" Toph chimed. "What's in it?"

Katara rolled her eyes. "Just relax," she ordered. Then she sat next to Lynnie and removed a meat knife from the adjacent drawer. "It's from Zuko and Mai. And no, Sokka. It's not for you." Katara squinted at the small sheet of paper attached to the wood. "It says it's for all of us." Her eyes widened and she added in a puzzled manner, "For Lynnie, too."

Aang, who had refused the meat-based breakfast, grimaced. "Lynnie?"

"It's weird," Katara admitted. She had succeeded in opening the top portion of the crate, and was surprised to find another Little Miss Mai doll inside, wrapped in thin paper.

"My dolly!" Lynnie exclaimed, reaching for the gift. "Look, Mama! This is just like the ones I have."

Sokka and Toph returned to their respective seats with equal distaste, disappointed.

Katara, meanwhile, removed a letter that had been attached to the gift. She read it aloud for their congregation:

_To our dearest friends in the Southern Water Tribe,_ she started, handing the doll to Lynnie to unwrap.

_We are pleased to invite you to a baby shower to be held in Fire Lady Mai's honor, to take place on the tenth of March, during this year, the Year of the Horse, at midday. _

_Fire Lord Zuko is expecting an heir to his kingdom, and would consider it the utmost honor for you to attend. He asks that you please not bother with gifts, as you are dear friends of his. Your presence at the ceremony, to be held in the Imperial Ball Room, will be enough._

Katara grinned after reading. "Fancy that!" she stated, in genuine shock.

"It's about time," Toph replied. "How long have they been married? Honestly, I was starting to think that Mai couldn't do it."

"Or that Zuko couldn't," Sokka added, and both he and Toph laughed at the sentiment.

"Mama," Lynnie started, holding up the doll. "There's something wrong with this one." And then the girl pointed to the doll's stomach, which had been inflated noticeably, to give the illusion of pregnancy. Katara laughed and held the doll up for Aang to see.

"How cute is that?" she asked the Avatar, looking at the attached tag. "It says this one is the latest one on the market...'Merry Mama Mai.' Simply darling!"

Aang nodded in agreement. "Now Lynnie has the entire set."

"Which is a shame," Katara answered, frowning and handing the doll to her daughter, "seeing as how she only uses them as flying targets."

"This one will be too heavy to fly," Lynnie reported from her spot. She looked at the doll again and ran her fingers over its stomach.

"What is it, darling?"

"Nothing, Mama," the girl answered. "I'm just wondering what's _in_ there."

Toph stated, "A baby," Sokka answered, "Food," and Katara said "Nothing," all at the same time, which made Aang chuckle under his breath. Katara blushed and bit her lip.

"We'll talk about it some other time," she promised her daughter. "Why don't you and I and Auntie Toph head to the bathhouse now?"

"Who said I'm going?" the earthbender snorted, scratching her forehead. "I don't need to go!"

Katara's eyes narrowed as she lifted Lynnie from her chair. "Oh, you're going, Toph. And it's not an option."

"But—"

"_Now._"

With one of them groaning and complaining, the three ladies wore their overcoats and headed to the bathhouse, Katara taking a small basket of soaps and lotions, and Toph slouching her shoulders as far as they would go.

Sokka mentioned to Aang that there was a male bathhouse at the other end of the village, and that they should probably visit too. Aang agreed.

* * *

In the male bathhouse—which wasn't nearly half as nice as the female bathhouse—Sokka told Aang flatly that he had every intention to marry Toph Bei Fong.

"The problem is," Sokka started underneath the rush of a shower head, "that I need to avenge my father and Suki first, and that might take a while."

Aang frowned in his stall and peeked over the tarp. "Sokka," he started loudly to be heard over the water, "you don't need to _avenge_ anyone."

Sokka grunted without answering.

"Really," Aang continued. "It's not worth it...what's done is done, you know? And going back and _looking_ for trouble...well, that's an entirely different story. It's dangerous."

Still Sokka refused to answer, and in the brief silence that ensued afterward, Aang closed his eyes and faced the running water. It felt nice to enjoy it without the forceful effort of bending.

It was then that Aang's tarp flew wide open, and exposed a nearly naked Sokka in the aftermath. He looked angry. Aang blinked and took a step back when Sokka forced himself inside the stall—nothing but a now damp towel protecting his lower half.

"I don't expect you to understand," Sokka hissed suddenly, grimacing.

"Sokka, what are—"

Then the warrior jabbed a finger into Aang's chest. "Your father wasn't killed, and neither was the person closest to you. Just because you and Katara weren't in touch for four years doesn't mean you can possibly understand." Sokka turned his face. "I'm sorry," he added. "I know it wasn't your fault, but that doesn't fix what happened." He paused. "I _have_ to do this."

Aang shoved Sokka out of his way and pulled his tunic on. The rest of the stalls were nearly full, and the bathhouse was getting rowdy. He stared blankly at Sokka's face.

"I lost my entire race," the Avatar returned bitterly. "My entire culture, all the people who were closest to me. Everything that meant anything."

Sokka noticed that Aang was trying to keep a level head. He frowned—angry but remorseful—and scattered his gaze about the bathhouse.

"When the time came, I didn't kill the Fire Lord. I didn't kill anyone." Aang's voice flickered with uncertainty. He looked at his hands. "The biggest difference between a great leader and a great man," he mentioned, suddenly feeling drained, "is that a great man destroys what hurts him, and a great leader finds a way to reduce the amount of hatred in the world—even if that hatred exists in his enemies. He doesn't kill them to release the hate. He doesn't destroy for his honor." Aang caught Sokka's stare again and took a step closer to the warrior, puffing his chest out. "I'm not telling you to forget. I'm telling you that you have a niece now. You have your sister and Toph to think about. Believe me when I tell you that making new enemies isn't worth it."

"Aang—"

"Believe me," Aang persisted. "You're young and you have your entire life ahead of you. The only responsibility you have is towards your family. You don't have to protect the world and you don't have to play the hero."

In an instant, the thought of grabbing Aang by the windpipe and holding him against the wall appealed to Sokka. He wanted very badly to fight him. Hurt him. Make him realize that it was easy for him to _not_ want to play the hero...but that it was hard for Sokka to let go. Hard for him to forget. Besides, regardless of what Suki's reincarnate or Katara said, Sokka still felt that the assassins were Aang's fault.

They wouldn't have come to the hotel if the Avatar was staying somewhere else, after all.

And Aang—at that moment, in the bathhouse—could see Sokka's suppressed rage; his blinded, furious hate towards the Fire Nation. Hate that had bred from losing his parents and the girl he loved.

"Think about it," the Avatar urged, picking up his things and turning to go. "Hatred only hurts those who harbor it. You have greater things in life to look forward to."

Sokka laughed sarcastically. "Please," he replied, crossing his arms. "Like what?"

"You just told me!" Aang touched Sokka's shoulder. "Toph Bei Fong, for example."

* * *

Things were not going so smoothly at the female bathhouse, at the other end of the village.

For one thing, Katara had began throwing up. Doubled over and obviously in pain, she grasped the sides of a wash basin and emptied the contents of her stomach, moaning with the effort. Lynnie watched—horrified—and continued to ask Auntie Toph if Katara was going to be okay.

"This is retribution," Toph explained to the child, smirking. "Katara made me come to the bathhouse this morning, and now look what happened! Ha!"

"Toph—I swear to God"—more vomiting—"you aren't helping—I swear I'm going to..."—a grotesque scream, and some spit—"Oh God."

"Mama! Are you gonna die?" Lynnie hid her face in Toph's overcoat. "You can't die! Please stop being sick!"

Katara stood up and pressed her hand against her forehead. The world was spinning, making duplicates of the watching female bathers. She grimaced at them and they turned back to their stalls.

"I'm okay, darling," the waterbender lied, taking out a small cake of soap. "Mama's just a little sick from breakfast."

"You barely ate anything!" Toph retorted, throwing her arms up. "I say it's morning sickness."

"Toph!"

"What?"

Katara sighed dismally and handed Lynnie a towel. "That is so unnecessary! I am _not_ having morning sickness. And I don't need you announcing things to the entire bathhouse." A few women turned to Katara's direction and snickered quietly to themselves; amused.

"Oh, relax!" the earthbender ordered lazily. "It's a fact. We all had breakfast, but you don't see me or Lynnie blowing chunks."

Lynnie laughed at the word "chunks."

Katara mumbled something indecipherable and took to removing her daughter's shoes. "I'm going to be fine," she promised Toph. "You'll see! Maybe...I don't know. Maybe I'm catching something? The flu."

"Or another child?"

"Toph—please!"

Toph smirked and put her hands behind her head. "Just don't say I didn't warn you when Twinkle Puff Junior starts poking out of your kimono."

Katara ignored this and doused Lynnie's hair with warm water, using her bending when necessary. Then she combed the girl's dark curls back, forming the twin braids and tying them up, like dog ears.

Toph continued to refuse the shower head until Katara doused her with a round of soap water, and then Toph cursed the day God created the South Pole without any solid earth beneath it. She used crude language a few times—again winning stares from the other bathers—but finally settled into a wash basin.

"Mama," Lynnie asked her mother as they waited for Toph outside. "What's a blow chunk?"

"It's when someone throws up," Katara answered. "But it's a bad way of putting it, darling. 'Vomit' works just as nicely."

Lynnie nodded in comprehension and then took to staring at her mother's belly. She put a hand against it.

Katara—who had always suffered from a severely ticklish ribcage—giggled and pushed the girl's hand away. "Lynnie!" she scolded, making a face. "What was that for?"

"I'm just checking," the child murmured. "What if Auntie Toph is right? Then you and my new Mai doll can have babies together!" Lynnie clapped, and Katara stared at her—amused slightly, but also frightened.

Katara knelt to her daughter's level. "Darling, Mama isn't going to have any other babies. Okay? Auntie Toph was joking."

Lynnie looked disappointed.

"Mama is just going to look after you now, and your Baba." Katara smiled sweetly. "That's all I can handle. Alright, dearest?"

"So no new baby?"

"No new baby," Katara confirmed. And Lynnie frowned deeply and looked at her feet.

When Toph emerged from the bathhouse (smelling nicer than she had in weeks), Katara elbowed her side as hard as she could. And then the waterbender whispered—quietly enough so that Kya Lynn wouldn't hear—"I hope you're happy! You've got Lynnie picking on me about babies."

Toph turned in Katara's general direction, and it was then Katara remembered the Toph of her childhood.

_The eyes_, the healer thought, staring at them. Though they were sightless, they portrayed certain characteristics nearly perfectly. Moments ago, Toph looked cynical and unfeeling. Yet now there was a genuine depiction in her expression...a sort of thorough understanding.

It reminded Katara of the foreshadowing found in those Earth Kingdom novels she had bought ages ago. There were words that emerged simply as a warning, a kind of looming cloud that could bring luck, fate, or catastrophe.

Her stomach turned over.

The younger woman replied—just as quietly as Katara—"I'd elbow you back, Sweetness, but I won't. For the baby's sake."

Then Katara felt the world spin again, and her stomach pinched even tighter, and she let go of Lynnie's hand and vomited the remains of her stomach in a nearby arctic shrub.


	18. The Palace City

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Author's Note**: I apologize for the wait. As some of you know, I was overseas for the entire summer, so my plans to finish the story by the time August rolled around didn't quite match up. But, here I am, back with another chapter. Hopefully you guys haven't lost interest in the story yet. Go back and read some chapters if you have the time! It's a great refresher!

Thanks to those of you who have stuck with me this far. My update pace can be annoying. I remember when I first started writing this; I came out with like…a new chapter every week. Those were the glory days.

Finger-lickin'-love,

scorpiaux

* * *

.18.

When Katara first mounted Appa after her four year break, she felt the exhilaration of her distant childhood brush against her stomach. The fact that Aang was a childhood love seemed to make all the difference, and Appa—in some twisted, perverse way—was an embodiment of this connection. His saddle was, technically, the first time she and Aang had slept close together. It was also where they discussed his duties as the Avatar for the first time. And, if she remembers correctly, it was Appa who led to the introduction, "Yeah, and this is Katara. My flying sister."

"Mama!" Lynnie was sitting next to her mother with her two faithful Appa dolls by her side. Her voice was light and soft this high up. "We're going so fast!" she cried excitedly. "What happens if we fall?"

"We won't fall, darling."

"It's almost happened before," Toph mentioned, grimacing. This was also her first time on Appa in four years and, as Katara and Sokka could clearly tell, the flight wasn't exactly how Toph preferred to spend her morning. She was paler than usual and her right hand knuckles were reddened from grasping the side handle for so long. Even her trip to the South Pole with Sokka on a navy ship was paradise compared to her blind endeavors through the clouds.

"We're almost there," Aang reported from the front, sensing the earthbender's discomfort.

"Lovely," Toph murmured.

In the hours after their departure from the South Pole, Aang had noticed a slight change in his fiancée's attitude. Katara had the same frightened, tense look she had ten years ago, when traveling outside of the tribal grounds had seemed like the stuff of myth. He had felt it too—the familiarity. They were back ten years ago, when Aang was twelve, and Katara fourteen, and Sokka still an awkward boy of sixteen. Toph wasn't there yet; neither was Lynnie. They were living the first days over again. And when Aang turned around and caught a glimpse of Katara smiling at him with the corner of her mouth, he nearly started to laugh at himself. It was so easy to forget that they had ever left one another. It was so easy to forget that they were troubled adults now, with a child who happened to be an airbender.

And his engagement ring, perfectly matched with the golden chain, couldn't have looked more perfect around Katara's neck. Life, Aang decided, was subtly hilarious.

When they landed, Lynnie was the first to jump off of the beast's side. She looked at the palace city with more repressed wonder. Then, with an Appa doll in each hand and a backpack full of Little Miss Mai dolls strapped to her shoulders, she began to venture towards the cobblestone pathway alone.

Her mother grabbed her arm in alarm and frowned. "Not by yourself, Lynnie," she warned crossly, holding the girl close. "We have to go as a group. And you have to stay next to me."

The child turned back to the palace city. "We have to hurry then, Mama!" She sighed audibly and kicked at the ground. "What if we miss something?"

"Like what?"

"Like the grass!" Lynnie bent down and picked up a handful of the plant, displaying it proudly to her parents. "There's so much of it. And the trees! Look how big they are!" Kya Lynn tried, in vain, to struggle free from Katara's grasp. "I want to see it all!" she exclaimed, trudging against her mother's weight.

Aang finished unpacking their luggage and grinned. "We will," he promised. "But you have to stay with us, Lynnie. It can be dangerous when you are so far away from home."

He didn't know it at that exact moment, but Aang's advice would remain with Lynnie years afterward, in an era with a different life and a different mindset. _It can be dangerous when you are so far away from home._ The power in those words was deafening, and at a tender age of four years, Lynnie would later be surprised at how she had managed to remember them.

"Where are we supposed to meet?" Sokka asked, fatigue straining his voice. "Isn't there going to be a hotel room? With a bed?"

Toph punched his shoulder, which resulted in a grunt of discomfort and a stagger in Sokka's step. "Stop complaining! Even pregnant women don't complain as much as you do."

Katara bit her lip and stared uncomfortably at the back of Toph's head.

Aang—who was painstakingly oblivious—looked at the invitation he had folded into his tunic. "There is supposed to be a hotel room. According to this, it's five blocks that way." He pointed behind him and then looked up to Sokka. "But it says that we should confirm our attendance in the palace courtyard first. So…maybe some of us can go to the hotel and some of us can go see Zuko?"

"A hotel would be nice," Katara agreed, leaning her weight on a nearby fence post. "Lynnie can use some rest. It's been a long morning."

"I'll go with Aang and Toph, then," Sokka volunteered. His suggestion made the earthbender raise a brow. "I'm not pregnant lady," the warrior informed, tapping his left bicep. "Besides, I need to congratulate Zuzu. I didn't think he had it in him."

Toph laughed in her typical cynical manner, "Mai certainly did."

"Who's Zuzu?" Kya Lynn inquired, putting down her bison dolls long enough to rub her eyes.

Katara looked beyond Aang to the palace city. The courtyard and their reserved hotel were both fairly close to one another. A full seven blocks separated them. But the cobblestone walkways were nice and flat—no snow!—and she knew Aang, Sokka and Toph wouldn't be gone for too long. Her time alone with Lynnie was necessary anyway. The child needed to be fed and bathed, and this would help further bridge the gap that had grown between them since before Gran Gran's death. Katara decided it was a good idea to split up.

"I'll meet you guys back at the hotel," the healer stated, taking Lynnie's hand and a leather travel bag. "Send Mai and Zuko my regards."

It unfolded from there much like a splash of shotgun fire; the stance was unexpected, the outcome unforeseen, and the conclusion a tragedy.

They parted ways without looking back.

* * *

Zuko sat with a clouded expression over his eyes, his manner distant. In their cherry-blossom courtyard, he would revisit scenes from his now untouchable childhood, most of which he shared with his mother. He could shut his eyelids and recall her face—so heartbreakingly close to Azula's—and try to remember the subtle undertones of her voice, and the smell of her hair. She had died only four years ago, and it still felt as though it had happened yesterday.

He was a full grown man now, he knew. Twenty-six and married, and Fire Lord. He was living in a comfortable manner with the girl he had grown up with, and sometimes he felt that his little childhood revisits were petty and unnecessary. But he couldn't help it. His mother was, next to Mai, the only person in his life that he had fled into seamlessly, trusted without hesitation, and—perhaps most importantly—loved more than himself.

Her death had caught him off guard. When the news reached him, he demanded to see her body. But there was nothing left of her to show. She had disappeared, and the only thing left was a vast amount of blood, and a few slivers of her hair. He had cried endlessly—cursed his pathetic security—wondered around the streets at night for an answer. It was damaging and harsh and terrible, and now all he had left was scraps and pieces: gentle, torn memories.

Their courtyard was still fashioned the way it had been a decade ago. There was a turtle-duck pond in the back, with a few stone statues of Aang and Zuko that palace officials had recommended. Zuko was slumped in one of two low benches around a metal table. His square fingers surrounded a warm glass of green jasmine tea, with his lips slightly apart, deep in transit thought.

When Mai joined him he looked up and smiled, temporarily unfocused. So much was happening that he simply forgot his place in the kingdom. And because Mai was a part of himself, he also forgot her place. For so long now they merely floated. Two bodies and a kingdom with lots of money and lots of laws. He liked to think that this set of life would change one day. But recently there had been talk of an old group coming back, endearingly named "The Resistance."

"Did you ask Lei Chen to file the new set of civil street conduct laws?" Zuko asked.

Mai replied in an equally distant tone, "Just this morning," before taking a slow sip of her own glass of tea and staring at the center of their elaborately decorated table.

"It's still morning."

"Earlier today."

Zuko nodded. "We have to talk to Lei Chen about The Resistance. I've been hearing about them nonstop all week. Apparently they've got some big scheme centered on the Palace City."

Mai shrugged with utter indifference from her spot. The pool of politics was not something she enjoyed tampering with, and her husband's position—as well as her father's, for that matter—couldn't have concerned her less. Zuko handled the dangerous things, and she posed for doll makers. And everything usually worked out in the end.

But today Zuzu was intent. "What do you think?" he wanted to know, catching her gaze long enough to seem sincere. "What will they do?"

Mai took another sip from her glass and rolled her eyes. "From what I've read," she started, referring to the two tiny scrolls she had glanced at casually a week before, "the Fire Nation is no longer their target."

"They wouldn't go after the Avatar."

"That's what they're so 'focused' on right now, Zuko. They have to be. They can't afford to launch a full scale coup. I still remember when Azula and Ty Lee and I were in Ba Sing Sei ten years ago." Mai smirked a little at the memory. "To launch the coup we had to have thousands of earthbenders. The Resistance is just a mock gang. They're too small to hurt us."

Zuko's voice rose without him noticing. "And Aang?" he asked, concerned. "They can't touch Aang, either."

"Aang is one person," Mai answered softly, standing up and touching her husband's shoulder. "Aang doesn't have the security the palace does. If you were The Resistance, and if you knew that the more valuable target was also the one who was less protected, what do you think you would do?"

"Hmph." Zuko also stood and stretched his arms high above his head. "If they are a mock gang, then they wouldn't delve into the Avatar. He's the most powerful being in the universe."

"Without security guards," Mai reminded, and bent down and pulled out a weed that had grown in the wrong place.

When the Fire Lord looked to the entrance of the courtyard, he could have sworn he saw the lanky form of the boy who had helped him save the world. He squinted and rubbed his eyes feverishly. Aang hadn't visited in what had felt like forever, and his presence now would only mean bad news.

The memory of his mother's death suddenly fled into Zuko's frame again, and his vision blinked and blurred without his willing it to. He supported his weight with one hand on the table and watched the courtyard gates intently. Aang couldn't be here. That was the sarcastic warrior boy or the rough-and-tumble earthbender miss walking beside him. They were not here. Mai wasn't here. No one was here.

Zuko felt a sharp pressure on the flex of his neck and chest. It felt as though everyone, except his mother, was already dead.


	19. Nation's End Hotel

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

* * *

.19.

Her steps were uneven and carried her with a pace comparable to a cloud.

When she was a child—around Lynnie's age, perhaps older—she wouldn't walk anywhere without holding her mother's hand. She remembers with a distinct clarity the size of their village then. It was ornate and lovely, with the repressed ability of becoming something great. It was, in her mother's words, "Full of promise."

She would also add, squeezing on Katara's hand a little tighter, that the South Pole would one day also be full of waterbenders.

In hindsight Katara can recall even the smallest details. There was a missing stitch in her mother's black and white gloves…right hand, index finger, near the top. She remembers the exact color of the sky and—had she ever taken an interest in the arts—would have gladly painted this scene flawlessly, because the sky was beautiful alongside her mother, who also taught her to see beauty in everything—even the missing stitches.

She remembers the size of the older woman's footprints in the snow compared to her own. The fear of one day not being able to fill them. Her mother's laugh lines –not because she was old but because she was happy. And her mother's name.

_Kya. _Hakoda often described his wife's nature, as well as her name, to be both abrupt and lasting. It was abrupt because he fell in love with her instantaneously, and it was lasting because—even after her death—he couldn't bring himself to any other woman.

It is upsetting to think that, had it not been for Gran Gran's recommendation, Katara would have never included the "Kya" part in "Kya Lynn."

Now Lynnie was dragging her mother along, and Katara suddenly asked herself if her own daughter would remember details such as this. Lynnie never seemed to be paying attention to anyone, much less to Katara, who appeared to be more of a hassle than a parental unit.

Lynnie liked Aang. His sudden appearance in her life, as well as his tattoos, gifts, and airbending, made him a new thing for Lynnie to adore. He was the Gran Gran now. The story-teller, toy-maker, wisdom-provider. And Katara…Katara was the woman who held her hand when things went dangerous. Katara was the one who made the food and washed the clothes and sat in a room alone writing letters and not sending them.

They had reached a narrower street with cherry trees to either side. It was the blossoming season, and the apparent pinkness of the trees meshed so flawlessly with the characteristic red of the Fire Nation buildings that Katara nearly forgot she was awake. Lynnie had released her hand and skipped about two paces ahead. She bent down and retrieved a small cherry blossom and handed it to her mother, who smiled warmly and put it in her hair, behind her ear.

"What are these?" the child wanted to know. "How come Gran Gran never told me about them?"

Katara tried to cover the strain in her voice. "Cherry blossoms, darling," she replied, picking a fresh one from a neighboring tree. "They produce fruit when the season gets warmer. But for now they are all still little flowers."

"Fruit!" Lynnie chortled. "How?"

The difficulties of explanation became all too apparent, and Katara feared—for the first time in what felt like years—not giving Lynnie enough information, or even overdoing it. The explanation game was always Gran Gran's job.

Katara sighed gently and picked up an older blossom, and held it between her finger and thumb, and knelt down to Lynnie's level and touched her daughter's shoulder.

"You see the center, Lynnie darling?"

"Okay."

"You see those little stubs?"

Lynnie pointed to the pollinated center of the flower.

"Yes, dearest. The stubs grow into a cherry. Okay?"

Kya Lynn nodded with grateful agreement, although it was obvious to Katara that Lynnie didn't know what a cherry was. Her daughter instead turned her attention back to the narrowing, winding walkway. She had acquired a cherry tree twig and slapped this mercilessly across either side of her as she skipped. Katara stared at the back of the girl's head blankly.

Maybe things were going to be okay.

They could walk like this forever, and the void that Gran Gran had left would eventually become a distant, tattered memory—the sort of thing that children Lynnie's age immediately forgot. Katara would fill the white, glowing space. She owed it to Lynnie to at least try again. She had committed a series of mistakes and, instead of working them through, she had blamed them on Kya Lynn. And Aang. And maybe also a little bit on Kana.

Introspection was necessary. Reflection was immediate. She had made a promise to Gran Gran to be a good mother, and here she was. A _good_ mother? Hardly. But she was just about to get the mother part.

One crawled before one walked.

The path became twisty, and the cherry trees faded into maple trees, which were high and frightening and gave the walk a distinct somber look. Katara searched the edge of the path for the hotel address, and found the entrance next to a set of decorative outdoor lanterns.

_Fire Nation Palace City Welcomes You! Nation's End Hotel offers only the most exquisite services for our most valuable patrons._

"Is this where we're going to stay?" Lynnie asked, stuffing her bison dolls into the Little Miss Mai travel set.

"Yes. Hold my hand now, dear. I don't want to lose you."

To the healer's surprise, Lynnie did as she was told and grasped her mother's fingers. Katara began to walk to the hotel nervously. She couldn't explain what it was, but something about the location of the building and the setting didn't compute. "Nation's End Hotel" seemed a little too generic, and the pathway and lanterns…their physical appearance was new. It was the kind of place that Katara expected would have an old world setting to it.

When she walked in and looked at the small lobby desk, however, she began to think that her uncertainty was unnecessary. There was a lovely young miss behind the counter, with honey hazel eyes, and long straight hair the color of night, and a smile that immediately communicated trust.

Katara sighed in relief. Lynnie took advantage of this and let go of her mother's hand.

The woman's nametag read simply, "Ming," and her primary interest appeared to be Katara's daughter. She stared at the child with a sort of glazed look, and then—as though comparing parent to offspring—looked up at the healer and then back down to Lynnie.

"Your daughter is gorgeous," said the woman in a hushed, confidential murmur. "How old is she?"

Katara signed the paper that had been prepared for her and answered, without thinking, "Almost five."

Ming grinned with all of her teeth. Her lips were full, and her facial features were moderately feminine. Katara asked, out of curiosity and also because she thought it was true, "Have I seen you before?"

"Me? Have you?" Ming shrugged in a distracted manner and took the signed paper behind her desk. "Maybe…I mean—I don't know. I have a really common face."

"You seem familiar."

"A lot of people say that."

"And you live in the Fire Nation?"

She answered, a little too loudly, "Yes!" before changing her mind and adding, "I mean—I live in…what used to be a colony. It's not a colony anymore. But it used to be."

Katara had placed her leather bag on the floor and had grabbed on to Lynnie's coat hood. "How is it like, in the colonies?"

Ming began sweating. Katara noticed because in the South Pole, no one ever sweats. It is too cold to sweat. And so when the first small bead accumulated on Ming's brow, Katara began to question the young woman's intentions. She seemed anxious. Her hands had left a small damp spot on the signed papers Katara had handed her.

Ming's attention was unequally divided against Katara and her daughter.

"It's nice, for a colony. But it got dangerous. My father was a mayor, actually. He had to deal with a lot of trouble." She stated, almost as an afterthought, "Not exactly the nicest place to grow up."

"Goodness." Katara tightened her grip on a fidgeting Lynnie. "What kind of trouble?"

"Mostly gangs…sometimes there was drug trouble too. It all depended. But it's better now." She hesitated. She handed Katara a folded brochure and laughed sweetly—almost embarrassed—before reaching for a towel to wipe her face. "How about you? You're obviously not from the Fire Nation."

Katara smiled and nodded. "What gave it away?" she wanted to know. "The skin? Or the coat?"

"A little bit of both." Ming watched Lynnie from the corner of her eyes. "But your daughter is lighter than you are."

"She takes after her father." The healer also studied Lynnie briefly, suddenly aware of the differences that set them apart, before picking up her bag and heading for the stairs. "It was nice meeting you, Ming."

Ming was preoccupied. She shuffled a set of papers behind her desk and responded, without looking up, "Enjoy your stay."

"Thank you."

Then she half-shouted, "Take care! Please take care!" before returning to the mundane duties of her desk, her eyes wavering momentarily on the sudden emptiness of the lobby. She made a small noise that Katara couldn't decipher because she had already placed considerable distance between them.

Katara led Lynnie up the twisted stairway to the third floor, where the pink walls and narrow hallway reminded her of the cherry blossom path she had just shared with her daughter moments before.

She let Lynnie put the key in and turn it, as it was the first time the child had seen a door decorated with such detailed and ornate features. And also because Katara was trying to build the kind of intricate memories that one don't just lose overnight.

Incredulously, and in her defense, she thought it was going well. Lynnie had already gotten into the habit of looking up to her mother when she addressed her. The intimacy of that simple movement must have surely meant that things were going according to plan.

And Ming had noticed that Lynnie was Katara's daughter, despite the physical skin difference, or the hue of the eyes. Maybe everything would unfold swiftly from here. She would marry Aang and they would blossom into a traditional family, and people would ask about them and she would have a man alongside her to justify the sex and the babies—the shame would disappear.

Her guilt would leave her alone.

Although Katara knew, from the death of her own mother, and her father, and then her mother's mother, that one of Fate's talents was to alter plans for the better—sometimes also for the worse.

* * *

When she said, "Is this some kind of joke?" she didn't mean to sound offended. But perhaps the notion of not sounding offended was impossible. She had married Zuko a little more than four years ago.

The topic was untouchable. Sensitive. And the questions destroyed her. The comments were worse. When noblewomen visited the palace to finalize laws or gossip over tea, she had to clench her fists at her sides to prevent herself from sticking a silver spoon through their eye sockets.

"Why not, Mai?" they would ask. "You're still young, and all of the finances of the world are available to you."

"Who shall we place the blame on?" another would inquire nasally. "Is Zuko too busy? Or do you just deny him?"

"Babies make a family," observed a voice. "One can't have a family without children."

There were more. Warnings of growing too old, warnings of losing Zuko to a whore who would promise him a son, fears of losing one's mind—as a woman should surely know her place in a marriage and should also know the devastating outcome if she could not reproduce.

Mai was strong and fierce and stubborn; she taught herself to ignore them. If a baby was necessary, then it would come on its own. As far as she knew, she and Zuko were doing everything right. These things took time and effort. And frankly, she was in no hurry. So long as these women were simply talking, she saw no reason to punish them or pay attention. Or gouge their eyes out with a spoon. They were just bloated spinsters and widows and divorcees with too much time to consider the sex lives of others as a way of projecting their own lacking sex lives.

It was all about the sex. The touchable idea of holding a child scarcely had anything to do with it.

Yet Mai—who had so carefully defended herself against venomous noblewomen, who had held her temperament down to save face—was honestly shocked and extremely disgusted when the Avatar kissed her hand and stated, in the way of custom, "Congratulations, Mai. May the spirits lead you into a safe delivery."

Because there had to be limits on what she could stand. And this form of mockery was intolerable. Her throat felt tight. She clenched and unclenched her hand and searched the Avatar's face.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

Aang blinked and straightened his back.

"Aang," Zuko started, taking a small step forward, "what are you talking about?"

He had busied himself with removing the folded invitation from his tunic. He looked at Sokka. Toph's lips had parted slightly, showing off part of her top row of teeth, a questioning look. Perhaps the dawn of realization.

"No," the earthbender mumbled, giving flesh to the incomprehension of thought. "God. No."

"It was all a trap," Sokka hissed crossly. "It was set up. A trap. The invitation."

Aang said quietly and slowly, as though pronouncing her name for the first time, "Katara," and looked past Zuko, where a gardener was bent over a fence pulling weeds and throwing them behind his shoulders. And it was then that he realized the virtual unimportance and relative simplicity of death.

He thought he turned around. He thought maybe he could hear Zuko and Mai and Sokka behind him, shouting questions and "Hurry! Hurry!" in high, breathless tones. Toph was in front, running back the way they had came. There was no time to process the infraction, no time to go back and save the rootless dandelions sprawled over a marbled courtyard, speckled with the dirt and pebbles that used to hold them stable.

* * *

In the washroom mirror Katara's reflection stood as motionlessly as Katara did. Lynnie had fallen fast asleep as soon as they had arrived in their large, seemingly over-decorated hotel room. Her breathing was even but fast, with the occasional cough, a result of the stressed sweetened tobacco smoking Katara had fallen prone to during her pregnancy. Kya Lynn coughed twice and then fell silent again, before coughing once more and turning noisily on the bed.

Just moments ago Katara had unpacked Lynnie's dolls, including the newest pregnant one, and placed them on the desk adjacent to one of the beds. She wished Lynnie hadn't fallen asleep so soon. Her dolls were dirty—or at least, they seemed to be covered with a sort of dust or grey powder—and Katara was sure that her child was, in addition to her toys, in need of a thorough washing.

The healer removed her coat and threw it behind her. She stepped out of her kimono. In her bindings she turned on the hot water tap and felt it with her left hand. Running water was still—ironically enough, for a waterbending nation—a distant luxury in the Southern Water Tribe. People were expected to bend it themselves, or pay someone to bend it.

Some time alone would do her wonders. She would smell lovely by the time Aang came back from his visit. And this thought warmed her almost as much as the running water did; she untied the bindings with a naïve, ignorant sort of smile—a look that she would have described before as stupid, or even unaware.

Her return to the South Pole with a bastard child still in her belly had altered her composition of thought. Katara had become a flawless pessimist. But things, she noticed now, had changed. Her process of thought—her world, her ideals—had been filtered though a different film, a different light. It was a little stupid, and maybe she was unaware, but it was the first time in a long time that she considered herself truly happy.

Their tub was old-world styled, with the traditional claw feet and curved lip. The water filled it almost instantly. Katara removed her boots and socks. She unpinned the earrings from the back and carefully slipped out of Aang's engagement necklace, placing it on a dry expanse above the sink.

She removed the wilting cherry blossom Lynnie had given her to wear. She kept this tucked safely in the folds of her kimono.

Then she slid into the bathwater seamlessly, without a ripple, almost like a fish.

* * *

"No," he was repeating. It became a chant.

They didn't know where to look. Aang had given Katara the directions, and he was left with nothing. People were stopping on the street to welcome the Fire Lord and his wife. They were wasting his time. He was running with his distinguishable twelve-year-old speed, faster than a whirlwind.

Toph and Sokka disappeared, but he was lost in a chain reaction, and it was deteriorating his ability to notice.

He turned the corners and crossed the streets and jumped in a number of treetop canopies and balconies.

A man was walking with his family. Aang stopped him and asked if he knew where Nation's End Hotel was located, and if it would take long to get there.

The man looked at the woman with him. "I'm sorry, mister," he answered pathetically. "Nation's End Hotel used to be on the southern border of the Fire Nation and the ocean. They closed it down nearly ten years ago."

* * *

She thought she slept.

It was hard to tell because her sleep cycles were flighty. She used to dream of her mother and father, and then of Aang, and then of Gran Gran. More recently she would see Suki in her dream, standing at the edge of a cliff. Katara would look at her and ask her to please not jump—she had a life with Sokka in the future and she needed to stay alive and make him happy. In the dream Katara was facing Suki, and Suki was screaming and pointing as though something was behind Katara, coming at her slowly. But in the dream she cannot turn around. She only sees a shadow casting before her. And then Suki turns into her next life cycle, a innocent girl with flushed cheeks and messy mahogany hair, holding on to a small, stuffed doll.

The sound of dropping water suddenly became all too noticeable, and she awoke to a grinding noise—something deep and rigorous. It sounded like the soft crushing of bone. And for that reason she opened her eyes wide and searched around the tub.

The dropping was coming from the sink she didn't remember turning on. The grinding was coming from behind the tub curtain, behind the partial wall that separated the tub and sink from the toilet and dresser.

She said aloud upon examination of the dripping sink from her spot, "That's strange." And then she tried to bend the water in the tub away from her to get out. But she was met with stubborn rejection of the element: it stayed peacefully where it was, and didn't move a centimeter.

Katara moved her hands again, this time with more concentration on the matter, and was yet again faced with motionless, stagnant water.

She grunted in detestation. Perhaps she was still dreaming. But there was a distinguishable grinding noise coming from behind the curtain—she could hear it. Her skin was prickling from the cool air of the large washroom. The sink was dripping. And the water, for whatever reason, was refusing her orders.

It was then the grinding stopped. Katara—master waterbender from the South Pole, top healer of the village, suddenly robbed of all of her abilities—Katara, soft woman naked in a bathtub far from home—mother separated from her daughter, child separated from her grandmother, young girl broken after her first love—with all of this, Katara felt helplessly exposed. Something was wrong. Someone was breathing in the room with her.

And the most frightening aspect was that it nearly felt familiar.

She stood out of the water and covered her chest, blinking at the warm, pink lantern light.

A voice said from behind the partial wall, "Bending isn't going to get you out of this one, Water Tribe girl."

Then a set of memorable large shoes turned the corner and stopped in front of the tub. She reached to cover herself with the red shower curtain, but her visitor's hand had grabbed hold of it, and his rugged, creased face had already searched the expanse of her naked body. Her jaw dropped; seconds became centuries. She tried again to cover her breasts with her arms.

"You must have missed me," Shu Orabi said. In his left hand he held one of Lynnie's dolls.

* * *


	20. Orabi and Katara

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Author's Note**: Oh, wow! Chapter 20 already…can you guys believe it? It feels like just yesterday I was compiling notes for this fiction and beginning to write it! It's amazing how quickly things pass.

We're almost done! Since I know it's been forever, I wanted to remind those who have forgotten:

1. After Hakoda and Suki are killed, Aang's engagement necklace for Katara disappears (this is why he gives her a necklace and a ring instead)

2. There was a servant in chapter 3 that welcomes Sokka to the Bei Fong estate and ridicules him for hurting Toph. He is nameless; just know that he was mentioned before.

3. Fa Ling was the girl that obsessed over Aang while he was with her father, the mayor. Shu Orabi was the man that nearly made love to Katara on his Earth Kingdom ship, when Lynnie was only 2 years old (Orabi only found out from the villagers afterward that Katara had a daughter from the Avatar—she had conveniently left that part out for him.) Koko is the second top healer in the South Pole besides Katara. She and Katara were really close at one point, but then grew distant. You'll find out why after reading this.

Finally, this chapter is really graphic and I apologize up front. A lot of the M rating is going to be showing throughout these last couple of chapters—be prepared!

As always, I thank those of you who have stayed with me this far. You have no idea how much your support means to me.

* * *

.20.

It wasn't Shu Orabi's sudden presence in the bathroom that had frightened her—it was the loss of her waterbending, combined with the fact that he was holding one of Lynnie's dolls. And she screamed. Her throat opened and she clasped her cheek with her right hand and grabbed her kimono from the shelf to her left.

The wilting blossom Lynnie had handed her earlier that day gently glided to the marbled floor.

Shu Orabi wasted no time. His massive arm reached out and cupped Katara's cheek. She covered herself with the draped kimono and recessed further into the tub.

"Did you think you would get away that easily?" he murmured, smiling with the corner of his mouth. "No one shakes off Shu Orabi. No one slaps me and drills a hole in my ship. And no one"—he jerked her face towards him—"lies about a daughter and another man, Katara."

He was moving too quickly for her to keep track of him; she was convinced that this was all still a bad dream. Mostly she was worried about Lynnie, and then also about Aang. He should have been here by now. But Orabi's presence, for some reason, did not bother Katara as much as it should have—maybe he wasn't there? She was still asleep in the tub, resting. And Orabi was just another broken figment from her past. Another piece that needed to be forgotten.

He grabbed her hair and shook her. Katara blinked and looked up. Again she recessed further into the tub, but he was tall and strong, and soon both of his hands were grabbing her hair, forcing her to look at him. "I'm going to kill you," he announced, a vicious ringing staining his tone. "I'm going to rid the world of a liar named Katara!"

"You wouldn't," she managed, all the while struggling to keep the kimono over her body. "You won't! What did you do to my daughter?"

He pulled her towards him; she fought to keep her distance. In a matter of minutes he had heaved her out of the tub and pinned her against the bolted door. The kimono was lost in the process. Katara noticed that Lynnie's doll had been tossed and forgotten, and was now resting in silence underneath Orabi's massive boot.

"What did you—"

"I'm going to cut you into pieces, Water Tribe girl. They're going to spend days reconstructing you."

"What did you _do_ to my daughter?" she insisted, ignoring the wolfish gaze that Orabi was so graciously slathering across her naked body. "Tell me where you—"

"Then they'll put all your pieces together, Katara, and then they'll say, 'This was the lying whore from the Southern Water Tribe,' and I'll be there to confirm it! You bitch. You liar." His smile was wide and flat; it spread from ear to ear. Shu Orabi began grinding his teeth. "You lying bitch. I have been waiting for such a long time to do this to you. I should have done it before we killed your father and that other whore from Kyoshi. It would have been a better use of our time to kill you first. Maybe then…"

He looked under his boot at Lynnie's doll, and then stared hard at Katara's narrowed eyes. "Maybe then, you wouldn't have a little girl to worry about. Ha!"

Somewhere during his speech, she had felt the water behind her eyelids—it was too much for her to hear this from him—it was too much to not know what had happened to Lynnie. She screamed and tried to shake free, but his hands were strong and firmly secured around her wrists. He was standing too closely for her to kick him. He was too persistent to escape—heavy and solid like a boulder…Katara swallowed the wavering lump in her throat and screamed out again.

"Quiet," Shu Orabi ordered crossly. Then he released her long enough to slap the right side of her face. The force sent her to the marbled floor, where Orabi picked her up again and pinned her back to the wall.

It was amazing—not just amazing, but better yet, unbelievable—what a lack of bending could reduce her to. She remembered Lynnie's dusty Merry Mama Mai doll, and how the dust had been both sticky and brown, and suddenly it all made sense. Katara put the pieces together. The doll, the invitation, the special order that had been sent from the Fire Nation to the Southern Water Tribe. It was all a set up. The doll's fabric had been laced with some sort of bending inhibitor, possibly one of the herbs prevalent in the Fire Nation's black market. And the invitation…it was all a plan to separate her from Aang and Sokka and Toph. A plan to destroy them from the Resistance. Orabi had been part of the Resistance all along.

And what worse! Despite the horrific position Orabi had forced upon her, Katara couldn't stop herself from laughing. She laughed maniacally—laughed in large and gasping breaths, laughed without stopping, without considering the volume of her voice—at her luck. They had succeeded for the second time.

Only now, they were going to take her instead of her father and Suki.

Meanwhile, her attacker began to undo the fastenings around the waistband of his pants. In the rightmost pocket there was a small cloth pouch, which looked—very distinctly—to have a short dagger inside. To his left side he had brought a length of rope.

He stated simply, "Enjoy this. It's going to be the last laugh you see in this life, Water Tribe girl. Laugh the whole time I'm cutting you up. Laugh at it. Go on."

She clasped her cheeks despite his hold and laughed harder, her gasping breaths eventually turning into shallow, watery sobs.

* * *

Lynnie's eyes opened and settled on a form familiar to her mother's. She rubbed her eyes and blinked at the darkness in the room, focusing on the female figure sitting at the base of the bed, before exclaiming—half in question—"Mama?"

The woman didn't answer. Lynnie blinked again. In whatever little light was streaming through the deep red curtains, she recognized the woman as none other than Auntie Koko, the other top healer from the Southern Water Tribe. Lynnie drew her knees up to her chest, unsure of how to react.

There had been a brief period when Lynnie was very young when Katara and Koko had been close friends. Lynnie couldn't remember it, of course…she could hardly remember Koko at all. She knew that Koko was an adult that she needed to respect, but that Katara also hated Koko—and so there was a tension now, with Koko in the room and Katara missing, and Lynnie awakening drowsily from a nap.

"Where is my doll?" Lynnie inquired instead, searching underneath the comforter.

"You are a deep sleeper," replied the older woman. "Do you know where your mother is?"

"Not here, I guess," presumed the child, suddenly aware of Katara's disappearance. "Where is she?"

Koko said, "I brought something for you to wear," before removing a black blindfold from her coat pocket. Her eyes looked wrinkled and waxy, tired from years of sketching and drawing and spying for the Resistance. It was all about to be over now. When all of the Avatar's team was dead, Koko would go back to living her life—she would get paid in full, her reputation as top healer would be restored, and maybe…maybe she would forget this ever happened.

She would forget that she had aided in the murder of a small, intelligent child and the child's broken, intelligent mother.

But Koko had grown used to the morbidity of the situation. She had imagined this a thousand times. Quick and easy. Blindfold the child and slit her throat. It would only take a minute, if even that…the blood would be warm and it would give rise to ribbons of steam in the cold room. Maybe Lynnie would scream, like her mother in the bathroom had moments before. Maybe Lynnie would plead with her because she was smart enough to know what was going on.

But maybe Lynnie would die soundlessly. Koko swallowed. She didn't understand her hesitations. If it was this easy, it should have been over with by now. She instructed, her hands shaking, "Put this around your eyes, Kya Lynn."

Lynnie took the blindfold and held it in her small, pale hands. "What is it for, Auntie?"

"It's a game."

"Like what kind of game?"

Koko stammered, "The…well, the fun kind of game," before turning her face and standing up. "Put it around your eyes."

Lynnie put the blindfold around her eyes. Koko helped fasten it around the back of the child's head.

_She has Katara's hair_, the woman thought disgustedly. She had always admired the healer's hair—flawless mahogany locks that never frayed or grayed or loosened. Katara's hair was beautiful. Complete. When she had drawn sketches of Aang's team for the Resistance, Koko remembered drawing Katara's hair and never being able to get it _quite_ right. It was then she had—as artists often do—wished that she could at least touch it before trying to recreate it in paint.

Now she touched its replica and shuddered. It was as soft as the silky blindfold that she was tying—softer. Softer than laughter in the winter. Than life in the snow. It reminded her of healing those who needed her. It reminded her of the energy that she could put inside of a wound—energy that could close it up and force the blood to flow. Hot, spirited energy.

"Now what do we do?" asked Lynnie, clapping at her inability to see. "Is this what Misses Toph Lady sees all the time? She told me she was blind and that she couldn't see nothing."

Koko ignored this. She removed the short dagger Shu Orabi had supplied her with hours before. It was so easy. One movement of her wrist. One flick. One second. One small and simple murder.

It was Shu Orabi and Fa Ling who had killed Suki and Hakoda. Back then, Koko was used primarily as a spy. Her job was to write detailed reports on Katara's advancements in the South Pole—her conditions, her hopes, her jobs, any friends she made during her time there. Then they had told her to poison Gran Gran's zebra seal meat with a certain herb, and she had done that too. It was no problem. A little sprinkle in the right place, at the right time during preparation, and Gran Gran's heart-rate slowed until it flickered out completely.

But Kana was old, Koko had reasoned. And anyway, the Resistance had paid Koko in full—much more than she made healing the sick. All she had to do was watch Katara's reaction: more distant, more shattered, more hurt.

But Gran Gran's death had set off a chain reaction. The Avatar, Katara's brother, and the metalbender had come to Katara and Lynnie's rescue. So Koko's next mission was to kill off Toph Bei Fong in the healing lodge, as another spy—a man who worked as a gate keeper and servant in the Bei Fong estate—had poisoned enough of Toph's water supply to give her a critical anemic condition. All Koko had to do was finish the job with a little waterbending in the lungs. Then they would be able to do more mental and physical damage to the team from there.

Koko remembered thinking that it was no problem. The girl was too sick to even want to live. And then Katara had barged in, because the other healers had insisted that she could do a better job. The end result was that everyone had remained alive, and Katara and Toph had grown even closer. There was no pay for Koko that time.

Orabi and Ling had stolen some of the Avatar's belongings after killing Suki and Hakoda. Koko remembered Orabi's grinning face as he offered Fa Ling the necklace he had stolen from the Avatar—an ornately crafted stone that was no doubt intended for Katara to wear. She had wondered if Aang had proposed yet. And then Katara had shown up, pregnant and friendless, on the icy shores of the marsh. Koko had been her closest confidant back then. Time passed, things changed—they began to speak less and less to each other. Eventually Koko had been the cause of Gran Gran's death, and now she would become the cause of Kya Lynn's.

_At least Katara will be too dead to notice_, she mused pathetically, finishing the knot on the child's blindfold.

In all honesty, it was too much to lie to Katara to her face. That was why she and Katara had grown distant. She knew where Aang's engagement necklace had gone, what had happened to split her and her brother and almost-fiancé apart. And she had done nothing about it—she was too afraid to, maybe.

But here she was, Koko realized. Jealous and afraid and stupid. The Avatar's story was nearly complete. Soon he would die as well, and the world would keep spinning, and Koko would keep lying, and somewhere along the line, things would end. Things would change. Time had a tendency to cover wounds up, make them look more appealing. But heal them? No. Koko was too deep of a wound to be healed. Too scarred and jagged—too ugly and vicious—too jealous…most of all, too passive to see this coming.

She was helpless; there was nothing she could do now but end it. So she breathed in and moved the matted mass of hair away from Lynnie's white, temperate neck.

* * *

He was a madman.

Katara was crying because she missed Lynnie and wanted to see her—wanted to know what had happened. Orabi had bound her hands together, as well as her feet. He had stuffed the cloth pouch of the dagger down the waterbender's throat, securing it with a rope tied at the back of her head, through her open mouth. The dagger was placed on the sink, behind Orabi, where Katara could see it.

She remembered how he had once tried to trick her to get her on the ship with him, only to find out that his motives were far from innocent. And yes, it was wrong to lie to him. And yes, it was wrong to lead him on. But it was also wrong for him to be a part of the Resistance. And Katara couldn't believe that she had fallen into his grasp again. She couldn't believe that death was dangerously close.

She wanted, more than anything, to be able to talk—to be able to reason with him about what he was doing. She was convinced that maybe—spirits willing—there would be a breakthrough. But the cloth was dry and scratchy, and the rope around her head was tight. The only thing she could manage were a series of undecipherable muffles.

"I'm having trouble deciding what I should do first," Orabi stated. Katara's eyes were wide—full discs of blue that watched his every move—his hurried hand gestures, his darting gaze, his anxious leg twitches. He smiled maniacally again and bent down to her side. "No waterbending!" he exclaimed contentedly. "Ha, ha! This is the greatest day of my life, Katara. I get to fuck a bastard's mother, and then I get to kill her. You know how I'm going to do it?"

Katara turned her face. She was busy thinking of an escape. Just because she was naked and tied down and without her bending didn't necessarily mean that she was out of the game completely. If they had captured Aang and Sokka and Toph, then she was the only one who could save Lynnie now. What would Gran Gran have done?

Anything, everything, all of it—she would have done the impossible to keep Lynnie out of danger. And so this was what Katara was thinking about as Orabi stated, in a bitter, unfeeling way, "I'm going to paralyze her but keep her conscious. And then I'm going to fill the tub with water—burning hot water, or maybe really cold water, or maybe I'll be nice after I do what I want to her and decide to make it lukewarm—and then I'm going to put her in there and watch as the tub fills. And then she drowns! The waterbender drowns, and she gets to see it all."

The dagger was placed at a convenient angle, thought Katara suddenly. And it certainly seemed heavy enough to fall on its own. If Orabi was intent on raping her before finishing the job, then his position on top of her would also be an opportunity for escape. The dagger could fall and hit his neck or back—it wouldn't kill him, but it would be enough of a distraction for her to figure out her next move.

"Then her dead body gets taken out, yes? And I cut it up with that dagger over there." Orabi removed the dagger and flashed it in Katara's face. He waved it teasingly. "It's sharp! Heavy!" He added, with a smirk that—under any other circumstances—would have been called harmless, "The same one used to kill her father." And then he placed the dagger above Katara's head, on the golden rug that covered part of the bathroom floor.

It was getting darker, because the candles in the lanterns were beginning to burn out, and the light from the window wasn't enough to keep everything lit and visible. Maybe she would be able to undo the rope around her wrists with the dagger while Orabi was busy? He wouldn't notice it—the horny bastard—no, he wouldn't notice it at all if she started moving up and down with him, with her hands above her head. Ingenious! Katara hoped he wouldn't touch the dagger anymore.

"Once I've cut her up," concluded the madman, removing his pants and undergarments and exposing his male anatomy, "then I put her in a bag and mail her to the Avatar. I write about how good she was to me. What do you think? Fair, right? You know, Katara"—he spread his legs to either side of her, speaking a mere three centimeters from her nose—"I didn't want to kill Suki or Hakoda, because I had a crush on you back then. I thought you were the most beautiful thing in the world. Then the weeks I spent with you after you left the Avatar were heaven." He jerked his weight around, opening her thighs forcibly with his hands when she refused to cooperate with him. "Then you betrayed me. So I'm enjoying this part of my mission now, because it's all about revenge. I get what I want, the Resistance gets what it wants, and you don't get anything."

She felt the cool contact of his body against her stomach. If her mouth wasn't clogged and tied, she would have vomited. He spread his tongue against her neck; she placed her hands above her head and fumbled quietly in search for the sharp edge of the dagger. "It seems perfectly fair to me," he said, pulling the rope around her mouth down to her neck. She coughed the cloth out and he pierced his large, awkward tongue between her teeth.

"If you talk," he warned against her quivering lips, "if you scream again—I'll do even worse things than I have described for you here. Understand?"

Katara nearly smiled. He had removed the rope from around her mouth! She could talk again; she could reason…she could use her powers as a seductive flirt to change the situation for the better. She still had a chance to save Lynnie. She just needed to be smart about whatever happened next.

But he was back in her mouth too quickly for her to say anything else.


	21. The Resistance

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Author's Note**: Keep an eye out for my newest fiction, "What Happens in the Swamp," to be published in another month or so. I look forward to your fantabulous input!

Also, if any of you are avid TV watchers, and would like to suggest shows for me to watch or books to read, please feel free to message me, or include them in your review. Avatar is great, but I would like to write for something else, and I'm extremely open-minded when it comes to good literature.

There will be anywhere from one to two chapters after this—yes sir, we're getting close! Be sure to send me your thoughts.

Still enjoying this ride, and hoping you are too,

scorpiaux

* * *

.21.

She was difficult.

Her parents often called her stubborn. Gran Gran chastised her hard-headed attitude, telling her that it was boyish and an unattractive quality in a girl. Katara insisted otherwise. Sokka had once called her a bitch, when they were old enough to use such language, and when the absence of both mother and father had allowed them to. But it had only happened once, after a fight Katara can't remember.

So despite Orabi's weight and her bounded limbs, Katara was able to give him a tiresome fight. She twisted, screamed, grunted in the black bathroom. Orabi swore through his teeth and threatened, but it was as though he was trying to hold a snake. Years of bending had left Katara agile and fierce. Orabi, who had let age and weight somewhat catch up to him, was larger, yes, but much clumsier.

Yet, he was still a man, and still stronger than her considerably. So after a struggle that had deemed itself exhausting, Katara—red-faced and panting—gave up. Orabi frowned deeply and breathed through his mouth.

It was then a large slab of earth, slightly pointed at the top, erupted from the ground and smashed into Orabi's chest. It pinned him to the ceiling and stopped—he remained wedged between the slab and the ceiling, breath caught short from the impact. Katara took advantage of this and cut the rope from her hands, then her feet. She didn't have the curiosity to wonder about the miracle; her priority now was finding Lynnie.

"What is this?" Orabi bellowed desperately, squirming from the grip of the boulder. He was a man who took his plotting seriously, and this turn of events had upset and confused him. He thrashed in his new position, but the rock held fast. He knew without trying again that he was powerless.

Katara grabbed her kimono from the floor and threw it distractedly about her shoulders. Then the paper door of the bathroom opened up like the mouth of a cave, and the bathroom flooded with light from the window across the bedroom, and Toph, breathless and sweating, stood in the doorway, with her fists up halfway, fingers clenched tightly, eyes as vacant as ever, but trembling. Orabi's jaw dropped.

"You're going to regret everything you ever did," Toph muttered darkly. "Everything."

Her hands—soft and white, strangely lady-like—moved up, and the boulder followed suit. Orabi wheezed as his ribcage was crushed between the rock and the ceiling of the bathroom. Katara, wide-eyed, realized what Toph was doing.

"Don't kill him!" begged the healer, grabbing Toph's elbow. Toph moved her face quickly in Katara's direction. "I know he's bad, Toph. We can send him to jail. But please…please don't kill him."

"Katara," Toph hissed back, "you don't know what they've done to Kya Lynn." Then, without consulting the matter further, she flicked her wrists upward; the boulder went through Orabi's body as though he was nothing more than a paper bag. Red spilled from his eyes and nostrils, from the hole in his stomach, from his mouth. His last word was a disconnected huff and a sigh, something indecipherable, quiet. His right hand twitched.

Katara stared up in horror. She covered her mouth with her hands. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice muffled and cracking. "Where's Lynnie?"

* * *

Sokka was strangling Koko against the wall-sized window. Beneath him he could see an empty ally, the faltering light of evening.

He and Toph had found Nation's End before Aang had. Zuko and Mai had left to find help from the palace doctors. The sight of Lynnie's small, pale body on a pillow stained with blood was enough to convince them. Fa Ling had heard their angry steps on the path in front of the small building, and had hidden behind the desk, shivering and biting her hand.

Koko choked and gasped for air. Sokka, unfeeling since the sight of Lynnie, wasted no time. He had been raised with war, fed on it, grew from it. Since he was a child he had not found the error in death—and only since Suki did he truly realize how much it could change the course of lives. But he was a swordsman, experienced enough to forget morals in his practice. And Koko's inability to save Toph, as well as Lynnie's bleeding body on the bed…it had snapped him. Reminded him. It was the physical push that made him tighten his fists. Attack the woman who called herself a healer.

He unsheathed his crystalline sword and held it up to her neck. She shut her eyes.

"You were part of our tribe," he said. "You bitch!"

From the deep corner of his field of vision, he saw Katara and Toph rush in from the bathroom. Katara started crying. She placed her fingers over Lynnie's severed neck. Toph stood in the corner and felt a numbing shiver crawl down her back.

Sokka's eyes were wet. He kept his face fixated on Koko when he asked, "Is she okay?"

"Her bending is gone," answered Toph, because Katara was sobbing quietly and could say nothing. "Orabi took it."

Sokka shoved his sword closer to the healer's neck. "_Now_," he demanded. "You go over there and fix this. _Now_."

Koko stared at him. Her brows were tight, mouth stretched, slightly open. Her hands trembled. She weighed the consequences; for the first time in her life, she realized that she didn't fear death. All her life she had been in search of something great, wanting so much to add to something, to take it away…to become some sort of legend. Spying for the resistance had been a joy for her, given her something to do. She glanced at the sword, shifted her eyes to meet Sokka's. She was not afraid for him. But Katara's sobbing was loud. Persistent.

_What have I done?_

"Now!" Sokka shouted. He grabbed her arm and tossed her towards the bed. "You'll see what happens to you if you can't save her! _Now_!"

Koko landed on her hands and scrambled quickly to the nightstand, where there was a vase of wilting white roses. She pulled a strand of water from the base of it, knocking over the ceramic in the process.

Sometime through it all, Koko looked over and caught Katara's eye. Her makeup was smudged from her struggle with Orabi. It had gotten worse with the crying now, and there were dark stains from her mascara and eyeliner that ran down her cheeks in thick tracks. There was a little puddle of wetness underneath her nose, over her upper lip. On her forehead, there was a thin red line, glimmering crimson in the light from the window, where Orabi had scratched her. Her hair stood up in uneven jabs, a battered mess that Koko had once envied. Katara's lips quivered unevenly; she turned her face and stopped crying long enough to throw up. She held her stomach.

Koko swallowed the sweltering force throbbing in her throat.

* * *

Fa Ling's father must have had six or seven daughters, maybe around Fa Ling's age, the youngest of which was only twelve, the oldest, twenty-one. Fa Ling was sixteen at the time of Hakoda and Suki's murders. Now she was almost twenty, and sitting behind the reception desk, shivering and biting her knuckles.

She had known since before this started that her planning with Orabi would end badly; she had met him almost by accident, at a conference he father forced her to attend. One of the taverns in their city had caught fire the night before, and Orabi was held suspect. It was unlikely, said Fa Ling's father, that he was to blame; Orabi dressed better than the government officials themselves, and his temperament was strangely calm, even in the face of accusation. The conference ended. Orabi swore that he would help the local police find whoever was in charge of the arson, and sometime afterward, as Fa Ling was outside, watching her younger sisters scream and chase each other, Orabi had come up and placed a hand on her shoulder.

She turned expecting her father, but found a man much taller and a few shades darker, too. His hair was long, tied up with a pin, with the neatness one would expect from someone older, more mature.

"I'm sorry I had to bore you today," he said, not removing his hand. "I know it's probably not your best interest to come to these sorts of meetings. And I apologize. I have no idea who would have accused me."

Fa Ling laughed attentively and shook her head. She cleared her throat. "It wasn't you…it was the atmosphere. I don't like politics, or government…and the fact that my father is a mayor honestly isn't the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. Frankly," she concluded, finding her voice to sound rather sophisticated, "the political aspect of my father's life got old the second I was exposed to it."

Orabi offered her a rolled crimson sheet with tobacco inside. She took it, not wanting to look childish in front of him after her collective speech, and watched as he struck a match against the case of a sword hanging casually on his side.

"The whole concept of politics after Ozai," he started, "is an impossibility. I have nothing against Prince Zuko, but think about it." Fa Ling looked up at him. "Think about what happened for Zuko to come to power. The Avatar had to remove Ozai, and his fall—symbolically speaking—is an insult to the Fire Nation as a whole. It's as though everything the Fire Nation has done to better the world didn't matter or count. I mean, sure, Ozai was a bit of a tyrant, but he came from a bloodline of kings, and there are parts of the Earth Kingdom that have been bettered because of colonization. Even your father's city," he continued, "has gotten better since he received back up from the Fire Nation police forces."

"I don't know," she said, watching the edge of the rolled tobacco ash up and crumble. "Like I told you, politics isn't exactly my forte. And I like the Avatar. I like that the war is over."

"Oh sure," said Orabi. "Of course. We're both Earth Kingdom, right? Ha! Of course, the war is over, and it's great." He placed his hand on her shoulder again; Fa Ling noticed how large it was. He looked at her face intently. "I'm saying, sometimes the _way_ things is done are more important than the end product."

"What do you mean?"

"Why should the Avatar live and be happy when he's imprisoned a man and forced a coup on the Fire Nation government? Why should the Avatar live happily when there are still places that are suffering from postwar industrialization? You see? There are so many things he still hasn't fixed, and everyone is idolizing him like he's some sort of saint."

"I like the Avatar," repeated Fa Ling. "He's done his best, and I'm sure it will get better. I mean, it's only been five years. We can't expect it to get better right away."

"There are ways to speed up the process," Orabi said, patting Fa Ling's shoulder. Then he handed her a card with an address written on it, and a time, and a date.

The first time in his flat proved difficult. Fa Ling may have been fifteen, but she had the sexual experiences of an eight year old, which consisted of innocent pecks on the cheek in grade school play grounds, and holding hands on a field trip when she was much younger. Orabi was older, so much more experienced. The very fact that he lived on his own nearly forced Fa Ling to respect him and his ideals, even if they were extremist.

He made her tea and they sat on the balcony, which was small but not uncomfortable. Fa Ling had left the house with the excuse that she was seeing a play with a few of her friends, and her father—perhaps because his attention was split among his other daughters—didn't inquire further.

"This tea is delicious," she complimented, emptying her glass. "You make it just like my mother does…is that weird?"

"Only a little," he said, winking.

She laughed and covered her mouth. When Orabi refilled her cup, she turned her face. "I feel like I shouldn't be here," Fa Ling admitted in a whisper. "I don't know why. I feel like maybe we're doing something wrong—well…maybe not _we_. Maybe…maybe, I don't know. Just me."

She felt Orabi's fingers touch her chin, and she turned to him almost impulsively. "You have beautiful eyes, Fa Ling," he murmured, staring hard at them. "I've never seen this before, this mix of brown and green. It's very beautiful on you."

She said, "Thank you," mostly because she didn't know what else to say. The only other time anyone had noticed her eyes was when she was younger, and her mother had blinked and held her face to the light, exclaiming, "Look at you, Fa Ling! Not green, not brown!" Her mother's friends laughed and took turns looking at her, this accident of design, this odd and captivating mistake.

"I want you to do a favor for me," he stated, opening his palm to hold her face. "Don't think about your parents. Don't think about what you should or shouldn't do." She felt his fingers graze over her ears, soft but contained. She blushed. "Think about what you like, about what you want to do. Think about us."

Her voice was shaky, hesitant. She mouthed, "Us?" and he nodded, leaned over the table with the teapot on it, and kissed her mouth.

The idea of a young woman's first kiss had appealed to Fa Ling since the age of nine, when she had watched her older sister kiss what had then been her love interest. She had included the ideas of fairytales and marriages, and fireworks in the background and nice clothes and the smell of peppermint, flavored tobacco, and cologne. She could see herself stroking the head of her beloved under a full moon, as they kissed one another with urgency—sensual, unfulfilled urgency, and haughty, shameless need—and oh, how great it would be when afterwards, the man of her dreams would bend on one knee and show her a stunning ring, and ask her, looking at her as though she was the treasure of the earth, "Will you marry me, Fa Ling? Will you be mine always and grow old with me? Will you be the mother of my children, my companion forever and ever and ever?" to which Fa Ling would answer, "I would have it no other way, my darling!"

But her first kiss with Orabi was different. It was almost as though she had stepped out of her skin and could watch herself objectively, from another spot on his balcony, when he lifted her up and ran his tongue over her bottom lip, and held her waist and stomach as if she was trying to get away.

She moved, faltered—paused long enough to look at him and then look at the carriages below, considering.

"Orabi," she said, crossing her arms, "I—I…really like you…but—but, I…"

"I like you a lot, Fa Ling." He was grinning. He hadn't let go of her waist, and while she did mind at first, this new feeling—this feeling of having someone to want, to hold, to pay attention to—was becoming realistic, tangible. She and Orabi could get married, and start a family, and move to a classy neighborhood and go on vacations and resorts, and live happily. It would be so perfect, she thought. So perfect, so unbreakable…so adult.

Orabi kissed her neck and held her closer, a little tighter. He uncrossed her arms with one of his hands and placed it around his neck. Unsurely, she had her other hand do the same thing. She felt the muscles under his neck; he moved his arms up to her back.

"I want to teach you things, Fa Ling," he insisted quietly in her ear. His breath tickled her. "I have so much to teach you. You should trust me. I'm not going to judge you, or make fun of you, or tell you want to do." His teeth clasped gently on her earlobe, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. This was so new, so different…and even if it felt immoral, Fa Ling was dizzy with his attention, his experience. She closed her eyes. "I want you," he informed simply.

"I…I think—"

"Let me have you."

It was a disastrous cycle, she knew—hideous in its secrecy, frightening in its vulnerability. She was certain that after he had taken her virginity, he would leave her. But Orabi returned to her father's house the following morning for what he called a 'casual visit to say thank you,' during which he spoke to her very briefly, without her parents knowing, that he needed to see her again—needed this thing called Fa Ling in his life.

She couldn't help herself; she had grown addicted. She visited his apartment every night for the first week, then every other night, then only on weekends. When he started working with a shipping company, they saw each other whenever they could, and she adopted the habit of writing him letters, missing him, his touch, his ideas, their lovemaking. He wrote back with something akin to sincerity.

A year later, she helped him commit two murders. Four years after that, here she was again, after he had cheated on her with Katara and an unknown number of other girls. As she sat behind the receptionist's desk, Fa Ling realized for the first time in months that she was incredibly stupid to be following this man, who was not only a pervert but also a psycho. What if he killed her? What if he decided that her family needed to be punished for having connections with the Avatar? It was amazing how much one thought about things when their life was threatened, when the entire scheme of occurrence was put in perspective. She listened as a gust of unnatural wind blew the door of the makeshift inn off of its hinges.

Aang, covered in sweat, dirt, and needle-like twigs, stood firmly in the reception area, his eyes narrowed and searching. As soon as Fa Ling glanced at him, he turned to her, grimacing, the veins of his arms rigid and obvious.

"Where are they?" he demanded, his steps echoing with his voice. "Tell me where they—" He paused, opened his eyes a little wider, formed a perfect "O" with his lips. His confusion—sudden, overlapping—flashed as an immediate contrast to his anger. In that precise second, Aang looked like a boy of twelve years, exposed to something he was not yet made to understand.

He said, his voice breaking, "Fa Ling?"

She looked at him; fear prevented her from answering.

"_You_?" he said, growing closer. She shrunk from him and pulled her knees to her face. From her position on the floor, he looked twice as tall, twice as threatening.

She managed a whimper.

"What are _you_ doing _here_?" he wanted to know. His voice was getting louder, more involved. Fa Ling saw Aang's grip tighten around his staff. Three of his knuckles were bleeding.

She didn't answer. How could she? Her tongue was caught in her throat, held fast by guilt, fear, and pity. She would die today. Orabi would die today. Koko, that ignorant, self-absorbed waterbender…they would all die. And maybe Katara and Kya Lynn were dead too. Maybe Aang would die. Fa Ling swallowed and tried to stand. But her legs were weak, and they buckled, sending her face first on the desk.

Aang's facial expression communicated that he had assumed the worst, and the worst was the truth. Fa Ling was part of the Resistance.

"I'm so sorry," she breathed, mixing the words with desperate sobs. "I'm so, _so_ sorry." She tried to breathe in—for some reason the task proved unspeakably difficult. "I'm stupid. I'm just stupid. And your family. They're upstairs." She added, unable to look at him, "They're upstairs in Room 3, to your left. And they need you. Please…" Then she buried her face in the scrolls unraveled on the desk. Aang's response to this faded. The view of the room from her position on the desk spun and shook. Fa Ling's first kiss flashed inside her eyelids, her first night with Orabi, his name resonating in the dark apartment, his empty promising, his uneven smile and large, eager fingers.

Aang grabbed Fa Ling's dark hair and lifted her head, realizing unwillingly that she had fainted. From the rooms upstairs, he could hear fierce screams and quiet crying, and it was almost as though he was in that hotel four years ago, listening as Sokka discovered his dead bride and butchered father…listening as the sky fell in large, ominous pieces, breaking silently over his head, mocking his unavoidable misfortune.


	22. The Southern Air Temple

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Author's Note**: Possibly two more chapters after this one!

I like to make it an even 24.

In five more years, I'll be 24.

That's pretty legit.

Thoughts plz.

-scorpiaux

PS. The tone picks up; I promise. Everything will be clear soon.

* * *

.22.

She could see parts of the sky from her room, when she looked up from the bed. There were holes in the ceiling that her father hadn't bothered repairing, insisting instead that the weather was nice enough here, and that snow was a rarity even in winter. There was always, she presumed, the tarp. When it would rain, Kya Lynn and her mother would climb to the roof and throw the tarp over the holes. Then the room would become dry and dark, and the girl would sleep fully after a stretch of three hours in which she turned thoughts in her head. Delicate, intricate, quiet thoughts.

Tonight she heard the soft echo of her parents' voices, resonating in the hallway in front of her room. They were discussing something important; they spoke shortly, cautiously. Her father's voice would rise in the middle of a phrase, and she would hear a set of words—"year ago" or "throat" or "baby"—and then her mother would hush him, and it would drop again, barely a whisper.

Kya Lynn, almost six and a curious thing, rolled messily out of bed and rubbed her face. She let her hands fall over the bulbous scar across her throat—rubbery and jagged—before smoothing the wrinkles in her nightgown and tiptoeing gently into the hallway. Her parents' room was some four meters down, with a small, dim bathroom between. Lynnie pressed her back to the brick wall and closed her eyes. Their voices were so much clearer here.

"I don't want to talk about this now."

"We've been avoiding it for too long—"

"It's funny how you say 'avoid'..."

"I'm just saying. Don't you think it's time we faced this? I'm not being selfish, Katara...I just want this all...for your sake, mostly. We should at least be able to talk about it without you leaving or—"

"You can't give it more time, can you?" Her voice was angry now; high-pitched and shaky. Lynnie recognized the tremor in it—the way Katara's control wavered. She was weak to him, incapable, unstable. A feather on the rim of an edge; a breath threatening to collapse.

"When I see you like this, it hurts me so much," answered Aang. Lynnie heard the springs of the mattress creak; her father was standing up. "If you think I don't want to wait for you, you're wrong," he continued. "I just don't like seeing you like this. I want it the way it was. I want to know that someday you'll be able to look at me without hiding your eyes. I want us to talk again. It's been a year...maybe more...I don't know. I stopped paying attention when I saw you this way. You know this, Katara, don't you? You know this. You know more than I do that the clock stopped when you saw Kya Lynn...when you killed that woman...after you lost the baby..."

She shushed him; Lynnie heard something soft and fleshy—the 'mwah' of a kiss—wet, private. She shut her ears until she heard her mother's voice claim, in a distraught, distant tone, "I can't believe I lost it...I can't believe they took it for me. How am I supposed to...?"

She collapsed into his arms without finishing, or so Kya Lynn assumed, as the rest of the night was quiet. She did not move back to her room. Instead Lynnie found a certain comfort in the ringing emptiness of the hallway; the cool breeze that avoided her room most nights; the way she felt so small and invisible in such a large temple. She could not remember much before they moved here, except there was a large pain in her life—a sharp pain, a dense pain, an undivided pain—and since then, her life had changed forever.

* * *

The baby squirmed in one arm; a droplet of water, birthed from condensation, slid down Sokka's left knuckle from the bottle he held. Lao refused to drink. What more, he wouldn't stop crying. Someone was knocking on the door. Sokka turned, attempting to listen for some sort of announcement of identification, before Lao screamed next to his father's ear. His son took it a step further and, with his aching, teething gums, bit down on Sokka's earlobe as hard as he could.

"TOPH!" Sokka cried, pulling the boy to an arm's length. "Toph! Can you get the door?"

She answered groggily from the bedroom, "What?"

"The door!" her husband repeated, louder this time than the first. "Someone's at the door and Lao won't shut up!"

"Solicitors!" she yelled back. "I'm not answering! I'm exhausted."

Yet, Sokka felt instinctively obligated to answer, and so with a screaming baby clinging to his messy, stained kimono, he walked barefoot to the deck and opened the door to their apartment.

A girl stood there, tall but not obnoxiously so, with long straight hair and colored eyes. She was kneading her dress in her hands, and when Sokka finally asked if he could help her, she looked up before quickly looking away.

"Do you have a second?" she inquired.

He admitted flatly that he didn't; Lao screamed louder and pulled at his father's face. The girl looked at him curiously.

"I'm sorry...I've come at a bad time. I just wanted to give you this." She held out a slim scroll with elegant Earth Kingdom pendants to either side. She bowed. "I'm sorry for disturbing you. Your son is adorable—I'm sorry. Have a nice day today, sir." She tripped on the first stair on her way down, gripped the railing and held her forehead before leaving.

Sokka raised a brow, looking at the scroll in his hand. She had neglected to mention her name or what the scroll contained, but his son's bellowing had blocked Sokka's focus. He hadn't asked her. Instead he wondered to himself what all of this was about.

Lao bit his father's cheek in response to the silence, and screamed again.

"You're going to be the death of me," Sokka whispered, kissing the boy's forehead.

* * *

Lynnie's pupils were marbled, gray and a finite shade of blue, splashed in uneven blotches throughout. He remembered blankly when he first saw her, that soft expanse in his chest...the way her presence seemed to fill him. He and Katara, and Lynnie. The number three, back then, had never appealed to him more.

But since their collision with the Resistance more than a year ago, the matter had changed. Lynnie could no longer speak. The cut in her throat was too deep, and though it was unnaturally repaired with Koko's hasty, cold fingers, it was no longer fully functional. The only noises Lynnie could expel now were grunts and sharp breaths. Even Katara had given up healing attempts.

And she had been such a clever, talkative child.

It was not as though he hadn't expected this; for the longest time after reuniting with Katara, Aang had felt that they had it too good. Something was foreshadowed there. A large threat loomed over him whenever he walked around in the igloo, moving methodically from room to room, as he moved Katara's hair between his fingers as she slept, as he whispered her name when they made love. Even when they reached for each other's bodies in the night...even when she kissed his neck and spread her tongue between his lips...even in their closets moments, he felt afraid. Exposed. It had all come to him with a certain taste; something was close to erupting. He had felt helpless for weeks.

And Lynnie's small frame, thrown on the bed in such a crude manner...her white neck cleanly severed, a pool of blood over the pillow. He couldn't help himself. He had fainted, collapsed...he had seen a light then, too, and considered himself dead. But he had awaken four hours later in the same room, with Earth Kingdom security officials surrounding him, splashing cool water at his face. A man asked him if he was alright, and Aang had stood up and pushed them away. The bedding on the mattress had been removed; Katara held Lynnie in the corner with the strangest, most detached look he had seen in his life. Lynnie was sucking her thumb. Alive.

Sokka and Toph talked to police and explained, briefly, that the entire thing was a scheme. They showed them the doll and the letter, discussed the fact that Koko had a shady history anyway, and that Orabi wasn't clean either. They nodded, pointed, spoke. Aang watched dumbly and was not able to process anything. The officials agreed in the end, and apologized profusely. Although...

Although, at first, they had wanted to charge Katara for murder; after Koko had healed Lynnie to the best of her ability, Katara had killed her. What was worse: she had done it without her bending. Orabi had spread some sort of powder on Lynnie's doll that had taken her bending away for weeks. Yet Katara had picked up the vase next to the bed, crashed it to the ground, picked up the largest shard, and, with an otherworldly force, gashed at Koko's eyes. Imagine the horrified look on the officials' faces after walking in, finding half an eyeball with gel-like fluid gushing out of it...next to the corpse of a frail, bitter woman. The explanation Katara gave was flat, hideously monotonous: "Yes, I killed her. She nearly killed my daughter. Yes, I did that. Do you expect me to be sorry? Don't look at me that way."

Afterwards Fa Ling was sent to prison, and Orabi's body was slowly taken down from the ceiling, where a red ring of blood—brown on the edges—remained in the shape of his punctured back.

It was Zuko who Aang should have thanked more than anyone. After the entire ordeal was over, he invited them to the palace, where they stayed for four days before deciding where to go next. Zuko instantly released a news item to the Fire Nation: any information on the Resistance—any clue or hint, any knowledge at all—would be rewarded in gold. Domestic security forces were warned to stay on the lookout, and—based on rumors—Fa Ling has pounded relentlessly for more information. Before the team went their separate ways, Zuko placed his massive hand on Aang's shoulder and, with the warmest tone he could conjure, promised definitely, "I'm so sorry. This won't happen to you or your family again."

Aang had wished he could believe it.

* * *

"I was thinking," she started, "that we could teach her sign language."

She held a ceramic cup in her hands, fingers wrapped elegantly as ribbons of steam floated above the scalding apricot tea. Her legs were folded beneath the chair, part of her thigh exposed in the slit of the silk robe. Eye-liner blotched and messy, hair down and damp from the shower. Under other circumstances, he would have called her sexy, commented on her perfect ass or the full breasts pouring from her bra, grabbed her waist and kissed her hard. But he refrained now, and instead looked at the cup with a sad smile, blushing at his thoughts. Their love was so temporary now, filled with big gaps and exhaustion; he could sometimes hardly remember it.

"She has her own sort of sign language right now, doesn't she?" he asked the cup. "It's actually remarkable, how we understand each other so well."

Katara grunted; it sounded extremely similar to Lynnie. Cynical. "We're isolated, Aang," she said, emphasizing his name. "We've lived in this temple for nearly seven months...alone. This can't be good for her."

"You mean it can't be good for you," he replied, sounding bitter unintentionally. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"That too."

"Well."

"I just want her to be around other people," she continued, pausing long enough to blow on the tea. She had left an empty glass for him near the pot, but he hadn't poured himself any; his stomach felt shaky all morning and he didn't want to tempt it.

"Coming up here was a good idea at first, but now I feel like we're doing more harm than good...to Lynnie and to each other. Isolation is unhealthy. Running away from things is unhealthy." He looked hard at her cheek; she was holding her head with her left hand. "I feel like we're hiding, and I don't want to feel this way. I want to be able to face it...to face the loss, the anger, the people...I want to live in society without being afraid all the time, and I want Lynnie to have as good a childhood as anyone else."

"I understand."

"That's just it—you don't." She was staring at something behind him, it seemed, too anxious to look in his eyes. Then she shifted her gaze to the tea and made a face. "After Gran Gran died, I didn't let anyone in. I wouldn't even talk to Pakku...and Lynnie. Lynnie was there the whole time, trying to talk to me. She was young but so smart...maybe because of Suki. I don't know. I just remember shutting her out all the time. And now—now I want to hear her voice so badly and I can't...I can't even remember what it used to sound like...and it's my fault." She covered her mouth with her left hand. Aang watched helplessly. A pair of birds chortled in the window of the kitchen, pressing their beaks to the glass. Katara covered her eyes with the heel of her palms and sighed.

"You think it's so easy," she continued. "You think if we stay up here things will get better. Go back to normal. But they won't. We're ruining ourselves...I can't...I can't even look at you." As if on cue, she stood up, taking her tea with her, holding it with both hands, as if it would fall. He watched her back, the curve in her hips, the way she swayed when she walked. He could not format in words how much he loved her. Even in her most hostile stages towards him. Even when she trembled between sanities.

She walked outside to the largest portico. It had rained the night before, leaving small puddles of wet leaves and mud and twigs. Katara stepped on them barefoot and put her elbows over the railing of the balcony. There was a certain aura about living in the Southern Air Temple that had appealed to her when she was 14. It was the mixture of knowing this was Aang's birthplace, along with the idea that it was so close to her own home, and so ancient. It represented the lost to her—Aang's people, her mother, her father, her grandmother and, most recently, the unborn child that had died prematurely in her womb after her fight with Orabi. She still remembered the warm mass that had slowly bloomed from between her legs; a human in its form, and so small, so fragile.

Lifeless.


	23. Mama

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Author's Note**: I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your continued support and critiques.

To answer a few questions since I can never do so with the volumes of reviews/messages:

1. Katara lost her second child to Orabi. No, he didn't rape her, although he was attempting to. However, if you're pregnant and you get a beating, there's a pretty good chance you'll lose the baby.

2. Fa Ling is in jail and yes, she did have a serious relationship with Orabi before he died.

3. IT IS GOING TO GET BETTER I PROMISE ASDFGHJKL! You impatient kids! All I hear is how this is soooo depressing but sooo good...I PROMISE that it will end happily. I don't know what else I can do to assure you that this is my plan. If you're good, I might even throw in a pseudo-lemon, by which I mean, an extremely dirty and well described scene that also symbolizes something much larger. Oooo...tasty.

4. I realize that I haven't been capitalizing 'The Resistance" and I apologize!

Uh...a few more chapters after this one? I don't even know where I'm ending it. Teeeheeee...BUT IT'S ENDING SOON. Because I'm torturing you all with my update speed...I'm sorry this is short. I just want you to know that I'm still alive and that I love you enough to update. Kay thanks bye.

Much candy-coated love,

scorpiaux

* * *

.23.

That night, it rained. Lightning flashed in thin, crooked strokes; thunder crashed and moaned and cried; Lynnie stared at her tarp-covered ceiling in silent terror. In the next room, Katara and Aang argued. The storm was loud though, and Lynnie couldn't hear them clearly.

She had a feeling inside her heart—something deep, and bright—that things were soon to change. She had felt this yesterday when she choked out a word almost incidentally: 'Mama.' Her mother's eyes had lit up. "Did you hear it?" she said to Aang. "Darling, say it again! Say it again like you just did!" Aang hadn't heard, and didn't believe, and in his state of melancholy depression he ignored Katara's attempts to force the child to utter the term again. After a solid twenty-five minutes, Katara gave up, and went to the study, where she spent most of her time these days.

Perhaps she had imagined it.

Tonight, Lynnie shut her eyes tightly and concentrated on her throat. There was a thick block there—layers of scar tissue, but it felt more like a brick or a chunk of wood. She wasn't sure how she had said 'Mama' yesterday—whenever she tried before (God, how she tried!), the effort usually backfired. Lynnie found this to be exciting and scary and wondered if she would be able to do it again. She hadn't seen Katara that happy since Gran Gran was alive, and even then, only in instances, in pauses, in the time it took for her to turn her neck towards her daughter, smile, and then turn her attention elsewhere.

* * *

Around the breakfast table, in the kitchen, Katara poured Lynnie a glass of tea and stirred in two spoonfuls of cane sugar. Lynnie held the cup tightly with sticky small fingers. Katara also poured herself a glass and left an empty one for Aang near the near-empty pot.

Katara watched her daughter drink. Lynnie smiled and breathed in sharply. It created a grinding wheeze that forced Katara's eyes to water. But instead of turning away like she usually did, she held the girl's gaze.

"I heard you, darling, yesterday. I heard you say 'Mama,' and I know if you try you can say it again."

'Mama' had renewed something in Katara that had lain dormant for longer than she had liked. It was the same feeling that bad bloomed in her heart when she met Aang in her youth. After losing everything, after tasting the bitter fists of death and gloom and depression, after being buried alive with self-pity and remorse: a flicker, a flame, an ideal. Back then, the Avatar had given her hope. Today, his daughter.

Kya Lynn grunted and looked down.

"Look at me, dearest," Katara ordered, lifting the child's face with both hands. "You're my only hope for anything good now. My little light. Everything and anything good happens to me because of you." Kya Lynn looked at her mother confusedly. They didn't speak much in the temple; it was her Baba who paid the most attention to her. "I love you so much, darling," Katara continued. "So, so much...I didn't realize it when you were born because I was selfish...I wanted your Baba to come back and take some of the blame. You know, everyone treated me like some...like some cheap whore." She figured there was no harm since Lynnie couldn't speak anyway. She was practically an adult, with all the things she'd been through. Katara hesitated. "Imagine, coming back with a child and without a husband. It was unheard of...and I hated you when I should have hated myself. I should have done something productive in his time away...but all of that doesn't matter." She wiped her eyes. "I love you, my darling. And if I say 'I love you' everyday, a thousand times a day, for a thousand years, it wouldn't be enough...they should have stabbed me, for God's sake." She stopped and sighed deeply; Lynnie imitated the action and grinned. Her baby teeth had fallen out and there were awkward gaps and jagged new teeth in her mouth. Katara smiled back and suppressed the cries in her throat. "You are so beautiful, Kya," she whispered, pulling her daughter to her chest. "You are gorgeous. You are the most beautiful thing to ever have happened to me."

* * *

Aang was on the highest balcony of the temple when he noticed a little dot moving hazily along the horizon. He could tell that it was a balloon, and with his experience he also knew it was an Earth Kingdom one. After the war, the art of flight was distributed to the other nations, and so it was not uncommon to see a few Earth Kingdom or Water Tribe balloons gliding smoothly in the clouds.

But none of them had ever come this close to the temple, nor approached this quickly.

He had yet to drink his tea, and decided it was better if he didn't disturb Katara this morning. There was little they said to one another these days that wasn't in the form of an argument or a reprimand. Or, in Katara's case, a cleverly disguised snide remark in the shape of something less threatening. God. She could even make a cough sound like a string of swears. He envied the ease with which she argued; he envied their life before the fall of Ozai.

The dot had come into full view now; Aang nervously picked up a twig and stripped it of its bark slowly. It was, in fact, an Earth Kingdom balloon, and a particularly nice one. Aang peered over curiously and waited for the balloon to come closer.

Was it surprise, or excitement, or relief that flooded him when he recognized Toph and Sokka in the basket of the machine? Possibly an oblong mixture of all three. He waved at them frantically and, though he wasn't sure why, felt hot tears sting at his eyes.


	24. Letters from the Falling Sky

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Author's Note**: There will be ONE more chapter after this.

Thank you all for your continued support. I read all of your reviews; I just wish I could reply to them individually :(

Another short chapter, but the next one is at least four pages already. I can't believe this is coming to a close! I'm nervous just thinking about it...

scorpiaux

* * *

.24.

"You have a baby." It was the first thing he thought to say when he noticed Toph's wrapped bundle, slung almost casually around her shoulder, in front of her chest. They had kept communications up via messenger hawk—Katara and Aang always wrote more (perhaps, rather, Aang did), always told anything and everything, kept their life an open book for Katara's brother and his then-fiancée. Neither Sokka nor Toph had disclosed the birth of their first. They hadn't told them of the wedding, either, and Aang felt sick looking at the engraved stone around Toph's neck. What had he expected? They hadn't lost touch completely...but something greater was lost in that hotel room nearly a year ago.

Maybe, simply, it was that they had stopped trying.

"Lao, after my father," said Toph, handing Aang the baby. "He's a real loud mouth...he fell asleep on the way over here. If you're careful he won't wake up for hours." Toph laughed. "That's a warning, by the way."

They embraced, talked. Sokka asked after pleasantries where Katara and Lynnie were, and Aang disclosed in an embarrassed manner that he wasn't entirely sure, but most likely they were in the temple kitchen having tea and breakfast. He hadn't felt like eating for a few weeks now.

"You're getting thin," said Toph, pointing to Aang's sleek gut. "You need to eat."

Aang forced a smile. He lied, without the intention of ever eating, "So I've heard. If you come down to the kitchen, we'll all have some breakfast together."

"How is everything?" Sokka had taken Lao from Aang and stood with an acute firmness; Aang was impressed. He had always known Sokka would make a promising father. The way he watched over Katara was enough to establish that. But now, "How is everything?" was almost a plea, a merciless demand. "How is everything?" wanted the response "Everything has been just fantastic" to assure Sokka that he had done nothing wrong by allowing Aang to bring his sister up here. "How is everything?" had the same tone as "Toph, is my sister lying?" nearly six years ago. Truly, though Sokka was thin and only muscular if you looked closely, he had an intimidating air about him now. Aang guessed—possibly correctly—that the same intimidation held its roots in Katara, as well.

She had reduced him to tears before, in their arguments, when he still cared enough for it to hurt.

But he was not afraid anymore, and Aang watched Sokka's eyes with a twisted satisfaction when he said, "If you have to know, everything's horrible."

He hesitated before Sokka got the chance to inquire further. "I don't know what's going to happen. Katara doesn't want to live up here anymore, but every time I suggest moving she clings to this place obsessively. I don't know what to do. I thought it would be best for Lynnie to have some seclusion, some privacy...a little space and time to grow up, you know..." He was talking more to himself; he looked at Lao's closed eyelids. "But the truth is...none of us know what we want. We aren't moving; we aren't a family. We are stagnant and rotting, and for once it's actually getting to me. The optimist." He added, at a distance, "It got to Katara a long time ago."

"I understand," said Sokka. He handed his son to Toph and rummaged in his bag for a tall Earth Kingdom scroll. "But there's this. This is why we're visiting. It came in the mail a few days back, and when I read it, I knew I had to bring it for you and Katara to read too."

* * *

His sister, the vision of youth, the ultimate of the femme mystique, the muse, the pinnacle of gorgeousness...how she had degenerated in his time away from her. Her entire body, perhaps from lack of sun or lacking diet, had paled, her eyes had yellowed in some spots and reddened in others. Yes, there was still an undertone of her beauty: her hair was full and at its longest, her shape was curved, supple. Any man who hadn't seen her before would gladly have her over for a night, he thought. His sister, late twenties, was still sexy enough to be painted in naughty positioning. It was not that she had become something different. It was just that she had lost something vital—did he dare to call it hope? Or youth? Or innocence?—something that made Katara _his_ Katara, and Aang's Katara. This Katara was distant, cold. Perhaps, were he to be cruel, she was _morbidly_ beautiful. She had become a flavor of machine, a stiff afterthought, a toy. Sokka wanted, very badly, to blame it on the excess makeup and less-than-appropriate nightgown.

"I missed you," she said into his neck. Her voice was hoarse, grainy. She cleared her throat.

"I missed you too." He held Lynnie; Katara and Toph hugged and talked briefly. Lynnie's cut had healed well, to the point where the scar practically blended with her skin. Sokka was pleased and excited, and after Katara and Toph fell silent, he removed the scroll again. Aang watched from across the room, arms crossed, frame wavering.

"This came for me and Toph a few days ago," he announced. "As soon as I read it, I knew I had to come back and tell you guys. But I don't want to read it to you." He handed the scroll to his sister, holding on to her shoulder with his free hand. She looked up at him. "I want you to be the first to read it," he said quietly.

Katara blinked and smiled lopsidedly. "Okay," she said, turning her attention to Aang. "I'll read it."

* * *

_To my granddaughter,_

_By the time this letter reaches you, my ashes will have already swirled around the world at least once, already dipped into the ocean, peppered a bird's lung, dripped through a cloud. I know now that the Resistance has poisoned me. I am guessing that it was one of the healers. My darling, my hours on this earth are numbered. You are being difficult. I want very badly to speak to you, but this is the best way to portray my grief for you, the only way I can reach you knowing that you will pay attention. Only after my death._

_Katara, since your youth I knew you were destined for something great, but it was after the birth of Kya Lynn that I realized your greatness was not meant for me or our tribe. Your place, your true place, is with the Avatar, with the world. You have responsibilities that are beyond us all, and for the past four years I have watched you writhe in self-produced morbidity and self-pity. You are more than what you reduced yourself to these past four years; you are more than what you think you are. I know you stopped trying since the birth of your daughter. I know you gave up ages ago._

_My darling, I was never upset that you came home with that child. I realize that many gossips enjoyed our story, and gave you a hard time. Consequently you were embarrassed of Kya Lynn, and obsessively prideful of the fact she was yours. And also very bitter. What Fate has done to you is wrong, it is a twisted mistake, it is a perversity of vicious shadows, a hideous cycle. You lost your mother young, lost your father and your sister-in-law. In a matter of hours or days, you will lose me, and then Pakku, and goodness knows who else. The Resistance will also try to take Kya Lynn once they find out about her from a more reliable source. They will stop at nothing to break you. I know it seems frightening, even impossible. They will keep at their attempts until you overcome your own inner demons: in your case, it is shame. In Sokka's case, it is fear. In Aang's case, it is helplessness. In Toph's case, it is duty, and truth. _

_But Katara, you will be amazed at how much the human form can accomplish once it is finally at peace with itself. You will be amazed at how your hands can fit the sky between fingers and palms, how you can direct the sun and planets, how you can stop or start your own Fate, how you can mend the seams in seamless Destiny. The world is a magnificent tragedy, my darling, and I have lived long enough to tell you only the truth: what you become is only up to you. And while the sky falls in pieces, the world ends only once. Meaning, as long as there is still some thread of sky, some shattered remnant of hope and goodness, the world is not over. We pick up the pieces and put them back. Life, battered, breathing, beautiful, continues._

_I have tried for all of your life to help you find your way, and as I am writing this, I find it is so difficult to say good-bye to you. My entire life has revolved around you and your brother and—more recently—Kya Lynn. I only ask two things. Firstly, take care of that girl. Do not leave her alone. Brush her hair, call her Kya, interact with her in the ways I won't be able to. Know that I am watching and that I will be disappointed if you ignore her as you have been._

_Secondly, I am attaching the last of the Spirit Water given to us by our sister tribe. The water in the marsh is polluted and cheapened; it won't heal a shallow cut. But this, this is the last of the true Spirit Water, and it is ancient, fabled to cure any ailment. I want you to use it when your hope is at stake. I want to know I was somehow able to help you, my dearest one. I have held on to this since I was Kya Lynn's age. Many times I have thought to use it—I can use it now to rid myself of the poison, but I refuse, my time is past expired—I have saved it. I know it will be better suited for you; you are smart, you can put it to use. Something tells me, in my heart, that you will need it. _

_My hands are tired and brittle. Death is close and cold, and I've missed you, my darling. When I watch from the Spirit World, I hope to find you always smiling, and if the Spirits decide to place me in a new body, it is my biggest wish that I hear your voice again, surrounded by those who love you, old and in good health, and laughing._

_With all the love I am capable of giving,_

_Gran Gran_


	25. Together

**Letters from the Falling Sky**

**Author's Note**: thank you all so, so much for everything. This has been one wild ride. I will write a sequel IF I receive enough private messages within the next month justifying me doing so. The sequel will most likely feature Kya Lynn as the main character and will only be about five chapters long, just tracking her life briefly after the end. Please let me know your thoughts. Really, thanks so much for the wonderful volume of reviews and messages. Your ideas mean the world to me. It feels so good knowing that what I write is being read.

I should also say that I grew up so much with this story, and it has really helped me in my personal life. I can't believe it's coming to a close. Thank you all so, so, so much for reading me. You'll never know how much it means. Finally I can say "The End!" without the least bit of remorse!

Happy reading,

scorpiaux

* * *

.25.

My name is Kya Lynn. I was raised in the Southern Water Tribe by my great grandmother, a woman named Kanna who spent her life coming up with remedies for the deepest kind of inner sadness. She was poisoned and killed by a political movement known as The Resistance, a rebel group that sought to return Fire Nation rule to the world. I was involved quite involuntarily in these politics because my father is the Avatar. But it wasn't something he became by choice (neither my father or the Avatar) and often I feel sorry for the wars in his head and his heart, and all his numerous losses.

I am almost twenty years old. Fifteen years ago, my family was falling apart. My father was experiencing a stagnant depression that threatened his life. My mother was paranoid and afraid of the world, afraid something dear to her would break. She lost her grandmother and her father and her mother – she was afraid to love because each time she loved something, it died. Of course she never fesses up but I'm smart and I've figured it out. This is why she can't look at me after she's kissed my forehead or my cheek and this is why she's quiet in the morning before tea or at night before she wraps her kimono, smokes a pinch of tobacco out of my father's pipe, and walks up to bed.

We lived in the Southern Air Temple for a year before moving to a bright, young city in the Earth Kingdom, a development known as Kai Zhu. What's nice about Kai Zhu is that every house looks different and there hasn't been any time for Kai Zhu to get 'bad.' It has the charms of the inner-city Earth Kingdom without the ghettos and prostitution rings. Next door to us is where my uncle Sokka and my aunt Toph live with their three children: Lao, Hakoda, and Sen. I feel sorry for Sen because she is the youngest and also a girl, and often whenever I see her she has bruises from fights with the boys. She's soundless and thin, always engrossed in a book.

I have three younger siblings myself. My youngest brother, Gyatso, is the favorite. He is twelve and can't stay away from girls. My twin sisters, Inuki and Kanna, are both fourteen, both airbenders, like me. Gyatso is the only waterbender in the family besides my mother, who claims she is out of practice and only teaches Gyatso when she has the energy and patience. She says, "I'm not young anymore, Gyatso. If you don't feel like it, I'm going inside." He isn't very interested in his abilities – it's a pity because Baba says Mama was good before she decided she was 'old' – and often I see Baba from the corner of my eye when we visit the temple, praying Gyatso will get his act together. It's a longshot even for the spirits. My mother, approaching forty, is tired. And Gyatso, approaching thirteen, is restless.

I have a brief memory from when I was younger. My mother says there was a woman after us, part of The Resistance, named Koko. She was spying on us for years before Mama killed her at a place called Nation's End. Apparently since that day, something in my mother snapped. She won't tell me what happened – no one will, not even my uncle or aunt – but she says it has something to do with the scar on my neck and then she tells me that I ask too many questions that don't really concern me. The thing that frightens me about this story is that I did some research. I asked around, traveled on my own for a week just to find some sort of clue. It turns out Nation's End Hotel closed over two decades ago, before I was even born. The ages don't match up. I don't know if Nation's End actually happened or if it's an imaginary reason to justify my mother's slight insanity.

I don't like to play favorites, but it was my sister, Kanna, who found the fifty scrolls in the basement of our apartment complex. They were wrapped in one of Mama's winter parkas. About thirty of them were from my father to my mother – they had no dates, but we guessed it was during the period that our parents weren't together. These are pieces of them:

_Katara. Katara. Katara. This is the prayer that puts me to sleep. This is the breath in my blood. This is the window in the dark room – this is my curse and my sweetest blessing. My Katara. The night I spent with you I wouldn't trade for all the women in the world. And still I find myself regretting ever touching you because it meant you would leave me here alone, without prayers or breaths. Without windows. _

_I have exhausted every means of coping. I haven't eaten for four days. Katara. Write back or I will never eat again. Write back and tell me you will eat with me._

_When the sun touches the horizon I think about the family we will never have. It makes me shake. I think about what you could possibly be doing at this very moment or if you are looking in the same direction or maybe even at me. I turn myself in every direction so that, if even briefly, we are looking at the same direction together._

_Katara. Katara. Katara. Katara. Katara. I miss you. I write your name to remember that you're real. Even if you don't miss me, I miss you. Even if my face never crosses your mind, I miss you. I will always miss you for as long as I'm on this earth. And in my next life, I will miss you even more than now. Because it will be even harder to find you. You have never missed anyone this much. You will never know the sting between ribs that comes from missing someone every time you blink._

Youthful and bored, Kanna didn't have any interest in reading them, but I read them and I cried to myself, thinking of how sad my father must have been, and how lonely. I read all the letters. I was down in the basement for at least two hours reading and piecing things together. Most of the letters were about The Resistance but nothing about my neck. Apparently my uncle Sokka was in love with a girl named Suki, who was killed by The Resistance on their wedding night. I didn't know this. And Hakoda was my grandfather, also killed the same night as Suki. Lao was Toph's father, who had employed members of The Resistance to watch over Toph, all unknowingly. I was so surprised and upset that these people had never been mentioned before. I imagined them on the paper – loud, dead secrets. That night I remember I asked my father, but he just shook his head.

"It'll bore you," he said. "Don't worry about it Lynnie. It's a long story."

"I have time," I replied. "I'm curious, Baba, please. What happened?" I ran my fingers over the scar tissue on my neck. I saw him glance up at me when I did this, a pained look in his face. Baba always broke easier than Mama. "Tell me," I begged. "Tell me what happened fifteen years ago. Tell me why we moved to Kai Zhu."

But he put his paper down and went upstairs, mumbling, "Tomorrow, tomorrow." And now I know that these are unspoken truths. My parents are tired of the world but they are finally at peace, and those scrolls in the basement are just bad memories. Dusty things they would rather forget.

This morning my mother woke up early.

I always wake up first in my family, make tea and breakfast enough for five, and meditate. It helps the bending. I was so surprised to see Mama in the kitchen that I jumped and yelled a little, and she smiled and winked – a little old mischievousness that hasn't faded away with her years. "Lynnie," she said. "Come help me."

I walked with her to the cellar where the scrolls were wrapped under her old parka. She lifted the parka and held it at arm's length. "This would look good on Inuki," she said. "She's thinner than Kanna, isn't she? I wore this when I was fourteen." I was a little insulted that she had never given me any clothes from when she was a girl, but it passed quickly. I don't know. I have such a strange relationship with my mother and most of the time I ignore almost everything she says, assuming it's coming from a dark, misunderstood place.

Then she lifted the scrolls in her arms and went back up the steps. I followed her with the old parka on my shoulder. She walked to the courtyard that we shared with my uncle Sokka. She placed the scrolls in the dry fountain.

It's almost winter, I'm thinking now. The air has a bitter, noticeable undertone in it – chilly and bright, like snow. I'm watching my mother walk around the fountain with her arms crossed. She's deep in thought, her mouth a perfect pout. They've emptied the fountain because of the weather and the scrolls are sitting in there, toppled and skewed like blunt swords. My mother lights a pipe and crosses her arm about her night robe. I don't have to look twice to know that it's the only thing she's wearing. For thirty-nine, she looks good. Young, maybe even sexy. She has hair down to her knees, darker than mine and much thicker. "What do you think, Lynnie?" she says.

"It's early," I reply, gripping my own shoulders. "A little cold."

My mother gestures to the dry fountain. There is a koi fish leaping out of it, crafted of stone, courtesy of Auntie Toph. The koi fish is smiling with a big mouth and one large tooth. When the fountain is full and turned on in the summer and spring, the fish spits water in a straight jet up in the air, and the water flares out like a blossom around the fish and lands in the rest of the fountain. Uncle Sokka always throws cherry blossoms in the water for the aesthetics of it. But since it's turned off, the fish looks dead and the scrolls look like they did the damage themselves.

My mother strikes a match and takes another drag from Baba's pipe. She glances at me. I see a hint of a smile. Then she tosses the match in the fountain. So quickly, barely a flick of her wrist. The flame is quiet for a little while before it eats at the parchment hungrily. The fountain turns bright orange. I want to cry, remembering what I've read.

She comes over to me and hugs me, smelling like tobacco and night sweat. I hold on to her. Somehow I know I was part of this terrible past and at the same time, I don't know anything. I'm so glad she's sharing this moment with me but I feel like she doesn't have a choice. I was part of that history. I was there and I did something and something happened. And I'll never know the whole story, but standing there watching an unsteady flame eat years of history, I feel my mother's ribcage shake. She's crying into my shoulder. "Lynnie," she's repeating. "Lynnie, Lynnie, Lynnie. My darling. My darling little Lynnie. You're so beautiful."

"It's okay," I whisper in her hair. "It's over, Mama." I want to tell her that it's been over for a while, that she did a good job coming this far. But it's not my place. I stroke her hair between my fingers, so happy that my mother is attaining closure. I think about my twin sisters and my little brother, deep in sleep, and my father still coiled in sheets, snoring. I look at the morning sky, stained with smoke and still dark and slightly starry, and I think, this is it. This is the end of it and the beginning of it, and we are all still standing here under a perfect section of atmosphere, alive and breathing.

Together.


End file.
